L 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 

GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME 


HlLDEGARDE  AND  THE  CHINA  POTS. — 


EDUC.- 
PSYCH. 
UMA8Y 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME 


BY 


LAURA   E.    RICHARDS 

AUTHOR  OF  "  QUEEN  HILDEGARDE,"  "  HILDEGAKDB'S  HOLIDAY" 
"  CAPTAIN  JANUARY,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 

ESTES     AND     LAURIAT 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  18»2, 
BY  E6TE6  AND  LAURIAT. 

Education 

GIFT 


TYPOGRAPHY  BY  J.  S.  GUSHING  &  Co.,  BOSTON. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  HOME  ITSELF 11 

II.  A  DISH  OF  GOSSIP 33 

III.  MORNING  HOURS 51 

IV.  A  WALK  AND  AN  ADVENTURE 71 

V.  UNCLE  AND  NEPHEW 100 

VI.  COUSIN  JACK 120 

VII.  Miss  AGATHA'S  CABINET 137 

VIII.  THE  POPLARS 155 

IX.  THE  COUSINS 179 

X.  BONNY  SIR  HUGH 198 

XI.  A  CALL  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 216 

XII.  THE  SECOND  ACT      . 234 

XIII.  A  PICNIC 255 

XIV.  OVER  THE  JAM-POTS 281 

XV.  AT  THE  BROWN  COTTAGE 292 

XVI.  GOOD  BY  ! 309 

7 


312 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


HlLDBGARDE  AND  THE  CHINA  POTS 

"IT  WAS  VERY  PLEASANT  UP  IN  THIS  AlRY  BOWER  "      .  81 
"JACK  FERRERS  APPEARED  CARRYING  A  HUGE  BUNCH  OF 

ROSES" 121 

"  HlLDEGARDE  HAD  BEEN  MAKING  FRIENDS  WITH  MER- 
LIN " 175 

HlLDEGARDE  FINDING  HUGH  AND  MERLIN  BY  THE  BROOK  201 

HUGH  AND  COLONEL  FERRERS 249 

OVER  THE  JAM  POTS 280 

"HE  GAVE  ME  A  LUNGE  IN  QUART" 801 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   HOME    ITSELF. 

IT  was  a  pleasant  place.  The  house  was 
a  large,  low,  old-fashioned  one,  with  the 
modern  addition  of  a  deep,  wide  verandah 
running  across  its  front.  Before  it  was  a 
circular  sweep  of  lawn,  fringed  with  trees ; 
beside  it  stood  a  few  noble  elms,  which  bent 
lovingly  above  the  gambrel  roof.  There  were 
some  flower-beds,  rather  neglected-looking, 
under  the  south  windows,  and  there  was  a 
kitchen-garden  behind  the  house.  This  was 
all  that  Hildegarde  Grahame  had  seen  so  far 

of    her   new   home,   for    she    had    only   just 

11 


12  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

arrived.  She  stood  now  on  the  verandah, 
looking  about  her  with  keen,  inquiring  eyes, 
a  tall,  graceful  girl,  very  erect,  with  a  certain 
proud  carriage  of  the  head.  Her  dress  of  black 
and  white  shepherd's  plaid  was  very  simple, 
but  it  fitted  to  perfection,  and  there  was  a 
decided  "  air "  to  her  little  black  felt  hat. 

Hildegarde's  father  had  died  about  six 
months  before  the  time  our  story  opens.  He 
had  been  very  wealthy,  but  many  of  his 
investments  had  shrunk  in  value,  and  the 
failure  of  a  bank  whose  cashier  had  proved 
dishonest  entailed  heavy  losses  upon  him ; 
so  that,  after  his  death,  it  was  found  that 
the  sum  remaining  for  his  widow  and  only 
child,  after  all  debts  were  paid,  was  no  very 
large  one.  They  would  have  enough  to  live 

* 

on,  and  to  live  comfortably ;  but  the  "  big 
luxuries,"  as  Hildegarde  called  them,  the 
horses  and  carriages,  the  great  New  York 
house  with  its  splendid  furniture  and  troops 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  18 

of  servants,  must  go ;  and  go  they  did,  with- 
out loss  of  time.  Perhaps  neither  Hildegarde 
nor  her  mother  regretted  these  things  much. 
Mrs.  Grahame  had  been  for  years  an  indefati- 
gable worker,  giving  most  of  her  time  to 
charities ;  she  knew  that  she  should  never 
rest  so  long  as  she  lived  in  New  York. 
Hildegarde  had  been  much  in  the  country 
during  the  past  two  years,  had  learned  to 
love  it  greatly,  and  found  city  life  too  "  cab- 
ined, cribbed,  confined,"  to  suit  her  present 
taste.  The  dear  father  had  always  preferred 
to  live  in  town ;  but  now  that  he  was  gone, 
they  were  both  glad  to  go  away  from  the 
great,  bustling,  noisy,  splendid  place.  So, 
when  Mrs.  Grahame' s  lawyer  told  her  that 
an  aged  relative,  who  had  lately  died,  had 
left  his  country  house  as  a  legacy  to  her,  both 
she  and  Hildegarde  said  at  once,  "  Let  us  go 
and  live  there  !  " 

Accordingly,  here  they  were  !    or  to  speak 


14  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

more  accurately,  here  Hildegarde  was,  for 
she  and  auntie  (auntie  was  the  black  cook ; 
she  had  been  Mrs.  Grahame's  nurse,  and  had 
been  cook  ever  since  Hildegarde  was  a  baby) 
had  come  by  an  early  train,  and  were  to  have 
everything  as  comfortable  as  might  be  by  the 
time  Mrs.  Grahame  and  the  little  housemaid, 
who  had  stayed  to  help  her  pack  the  last 
trifles,  should  arrive  in  the  afternoon. 

It  was  so  pleasant  on  the  wide  verandah, 
with  the  great  elms  nodding  over  it,  that 
Hildegarde  lingered,  until  a  mellow  "Miss 
Hildy,  chile !  you  comin'  ? "  summoned  her 
in-doors.  Auntie  had  already  put  on  her 
white  jacket  and  apron,  without  which  she 
never  considered  herself  dressed,  and  her 
muslin  turban  looked  like  a  snow-drift  on  an 
ebony  statue.  She  had  opened  the  door  of  a 
large  room,  and  was  peering  into  it,  feather 
duster  in  hand. 

"  'Spose  this  is  the  parlour !  "  she  said,  with 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  15 

• 

a  glance  of  keen   observation.     "  Comicalest 
parlour  ever  I  see  !  " 

Hildegarde  stepped  lightly  across  the  thresh- 
old. It  was  a  singular  room,  but,  she  thought, 
a  very  pleasant  one.  The  carpet  on  the 
floor  was  thick  and  soft,  of  some  eastern 
fabric,  but  so  faded  that  the  colours  were 
hardly  distinguishable.  Against  the  walls 
stood  many  chairs,  delicate,  spider-legged 
affairs,  with  cushions  of  faded  tapestry. 
The  curtains  might  once  have  been  crim- 
son, when  they  had  any  colour.  A  table  in 
the  exact  centre  of  the  room  was  covered 
with  a  worked  cloth  of  curious  and  antique 
pattern,  and  on  it  were  some  venerable  annu- 
als, and  "  Finden's  Tableaux,"  bound  in  green 
morocco.  In  a  dim  corner  stood  the  great- 
grandmother  of  all  pianos.  It  was  hardly 
larger  than  a  spinnet,  and  was  made  of  some 
light-coloured,  highly  polished  wood,  cunningly 
inlaid  with  ivory  and  mother-of-pearl.  Over 


16  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

the  yellow  keys  was  a  painting,  representing 
Apollo  (attired,  to  all  appearance,  like  the 
*<  old  man  on  a  hill,"  in  his  grandmother's 
gown),  capering  to  the  sound  of  his  lyre,  and 
followed  by  nine  young  ladies  in  pink  and 
green  frocks.  The  last  young  lady  carried  a 
parasol,  showing  that  the  Muses  thought  as 
much  of  their  complexions  as  other  people 
do.  At  sight  of  this  venerable  instrument 
Hildegarde  uttered  a  cry  of  delight,  and,  run- 
ning across  the  room,  touched  a  few  chords 
softly.  The  sound  was  faint  and  tinkling, 
but  not  unmusical.  Auntie  sniffed  audibly. 

"  Reckon  my  kittle  makes  a  better  music 
'an  that !  "  she  said;  and  then,  relenting,  she 
added,  "  might  ha'  been  pooty  once,  I  dassay. 
That's  a  pooty  picture,  anyhow,  over  the 
mankel-piece." 

Hildegarde  looked  up,  and  saw  a  coloured 
print  of  a  lady  in  the  costume  of  the  First 
Empire,  with  golden  ringlets,  large  blue  eyes, 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  17 

particularly  round  rosy  cheeks,  and  the  most 
amiable  simper  in  the  world.  Beneath  was 
the  inscription,  "  Madame  Recamier,  Napo- 
leon's first  love." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Hildegarde,  half -laughing, 
half-indignant,  "  how  ridiculous  !  She  wasn't, 
you  know !  and  she  never  looked  like  that, 
any  more  than  I  do.  But  see,  auntie !  see 
this  great  picture  of  General  Washington,  in 
his  fine  scarlet  coat.  I  am  sure  you  must 
admire  that !  Why  !  —  it  cannot  be  —  yes,  it 
is !  it  is  done  in  worsted-work.  Fine  cross- 
stitch,  every  atom  of  it.  Oh !  it  makes  my 
eyes  ache  to  think  of  it." 

Auntie  nodded  approvingly.  "  That's  what 
I  call  work  !  "  she  said.  "  That's  what  young 
ladies  used  to  do  when  I  was  a  gal.  Don't 
see  no  sech  work  nowadays,  only  just  a  passel 
o'  flowers  and  crooked  lines,  and  calls  it 
embr'idery." 

"  Oh !    you   ungrateful   old   auntie,"    cried 


18  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Hildegarde,  "  when  I  marked  your  towels  so 
beautifully  last  week.  Here  !  since  you  are 
so  fond  of  cross-stitch,  take  this  dreadful  yel- 
low sofa-pillow,  with  pink  roses  worked  on  it. 
It  will  just  fit  your  own  beloved  rocking- 
chair,  with  the  creak  in  it,  and  you  may  have 
it  for  your  very  own." 

The  pillow  flew  across  the  room,  and  auntie, 
catching  it,  disappeared  with  a  chuckle,  while 
Hildegarde  resumed  her  examination  of  the 
quaint  old  parlour.  The  "  cross-stitch  "  was 
everywhere:  on  the  deep,  comfortable  old 
sofa,  where  one  leaned  against  a  stag-hunt, 
and  had  a  huntsman  blowing  his  horn  on 
either  arm ;  on  the  chairs,  where  one  might 
sit  on  baskets  of  flowers,  dishes  of  fruit,  or 
cherubs'  heads,  as  one's  fancy  dictated ;  on 
the  long  fender-stool,  where  an  appalling  line 
of  dragons,  faintly  red,  on  a  ground  that  had 
been  blue,  gaped  open-mouthed,  as  if  waiting 
to  catch  an  unwary  foot. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  19 

"Oh!  their  poor  eyes!"  cried  Hildegarde. 
"How  could  their  mothers  let  them?"  She 
passed  her  hand  compassionately  over  the 
fine  lines  of  the  stag-hunt.  "Were  they 
girls,  do  you  suppose?"  she  went  on,  talking 
to  herself,  as  she  was  fond  of  doing.  "  Girls 
like  me,  or  slender  old  spinsters,  like  the 
chairs  and  the  piano  ?  Mamma  must  have 
known  some  of  them  when  she  was  a  child ; 
she  said  she  had  once  made  a  visit  here.  I 
must  ask  her  all  about  them.  Uncle  Aytoun ! 
what  a  pity  he  isn't  alive,  to  show  us  about 
his  house !  But  if  he  were  alive,  we  should 
not  be  here  at  all.  So  nice  of  you  to  leave 
the  house  to  mamma,  dear  sir,  just  as-  if  you 
had  been  her  real  uncle,  instead  of  her  father's 
cousin.  You  must  have  been  a  very  nice  old 
gentleman.  I  like  old  gentlemen."  The  girl 
paused,  and  presently  gave  an  inquiring  sniff. 
"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said  meditatively.  "  Not 
exactly  mould,  for  it  is  dry ;  not  must,  for  it 


20  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

is  sweet.  The  smell  of  this  particular  room, 
for  it,  suits  it  exactly.  It  is" — she  sniffed 
again  —  "  it  is  as  if  some  Aytoun  ladies  before 
the  flood  had  made  pot-pourri,  and  it  had  some- 
how kept  dry.  Let  us  examine  this  matter!  " 
She  tiptoed  about  the  room,  and,  going  round 
the  corner  of  the  great  chimney,  found  a  cup- 
board snugly  tucked  in  beside  it.  She  opened 
it,  with  a  delightful  thrill  of  curiosity.  Hilde- 
garde  did  love  cupboards !  Of  course,  there 
might  be  nothing  at  all  —  but  there  was  some- 
thing !  On  the  very  first  shelf  stood  a  row  of 
china  pots,  carefully  covered,  and  from  these 
pots  came  the  faint,  peculiar  perfume  which 
seemed  so  to  form  part  of  the  faded  charm  of 
the  room.  The  pots  were  of  delicate  white 
porcelain,  one  with  gold  sprigs  on  it,  one  with 
blue  flowers,  and  one  with  pink.  "  Belonging 
to  three  Aytoun  sisters !  "  said  Hildegarde. 
"  Of  course  !  dear  things  !  If  they  had  only 
written  their  names  on  the  jars  !  "  She  lifted 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  21 

the  gold-sprigged  jar  with  reverent  hands. 
Lo,  and  behold !  On  the  cover  was  pasted 
a  neat  label,  which  said,  "  Hester's  recipe, 
June,  18 — ."  She  examined  the  other  two 
jars  eagerly.  They  bore  similar  legends,  with 
the  names  "Agatha"  and  "Barbara."  On 
all  the  writing  was  in  minute  but  strongly 
marked  characters ;  the  three  hands  were 
different,  yet  there  was  a  marked  resemblance. 
Hildegarde  stood  almost  abashed,  as  if  she 
had  found  herself  in  presence  of  the  three 
ladies  themselves.  "  The  question  is  "  —  she 
murmured  apologetically  —  and  then  she 
stooped  and  sniffed  carefully,  critically,  at 
the  three  jars  in  turn.  "  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it !  "  she  said  at  last.  "  Hester's  recipe 
is  the  best,  for  it  has  outlived  the  others,  and 
given  its  character  to  the  whole  room.  Poor 
Miss  Agatha  and  Miss  Barbara !  How  dis- 
appointed they  would  be !  "  As  she  closed 
the  cupboard  softly  and  turned  away,  it  al- 


22  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

most  seemed  —  almost,  but  not  quite,  for 
though  Hildegarde  had  a  lively  imagination, 
she  was  not  at  all  superstitious  —  as  though 
she  heard  a  faint  sigh,  and  saw  the  shadowy 
forms  of  the  three  Aytoun  sisters  turning 
away  sadly  from  the  cupboard  where  their 
treasure  was  kept.  The  shadow  was  her  own, 
the  sigh  was  that  of  an  evening  breeze  as  it 
stole  in  between  the  faded  curtains ;  but 
Hildegarde  had  a  very  pretty  little  romance 
made  up  by  the  time  she  reached  the  other 
side  of  the  long  room,  and  when  she  softly 
closed  the  door,  it  was  not  without  a  whis- 
pered "  good  evening !  "  to  the  three  ladies 
whom  she  left  in  possession. 

Shaking  off  the  dream,  she  ran  quickly  up 
the  winding  stairs,  and  turned  into  the  pleas- 
ant, sunny  room  which  she  had  selected  as 
the  best  for  her  mother's  bedchamber.  It 
was  more  modern-looking  than  the  rest  of  the 
house,  in  spite  of  its  quaint  Chinese-patterned 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  23 

chintz  hangings  and  furniture ;  this  was 
partly  owing  to  a  large  bow-window  which 
almost  filled  one  side,  and  through  which  the 
evening  light  streamed  in  cheerfully.  Hilde- 
garde  had  already  unpacked  a  trunk  of  "  ali- 
cumtweezles  "  (a  word  not  generally  known, 
and  meaning  small  but  cherished  possessions), 
and  the  room  was  a  pleasant  litter  of  down 
pillows,  cologne-bottles,  work-implements,  pho- 
tograph cases  and  odd  books.  Now  she  in- 
spected the  chairs  with  a  keen  and  critical 
eye,  pounced  upon  one,  sat  down  in  it,  shook 
her  head  and  tried  another.  Finding  this  to 
her  mind,  she  drew  it  into  the  bow- window, 
half-filled  it  with  a  choice  assortment  of 
small  pillows,  and  placed  a  little  table  beside 
it,  on  which  she  set  a  fan,  a  bottle  of  co- 
logne, a  particularly  inviting  little  volume  of 
Wordsworth  (Hildegarde  had  not  grown  up 
to  Wordsworth  yet,  but  her  mother  had),  a 
silver  bonbonni&re  full  of  Marquis  chocolate- 


24  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

drops,  and  a  delicate  white  knitting-basket 
which  was  having  a  little  sunset  of  its  own 
with  rose-coloured  "Saxony."  "  There  !  "  said 
Hildegarde,  surveying  this  composition  with 
unfeigned  satisfaction.  "  If  that  isn't  attrac- 
tive, I  don't  know  what  is.  She  won't  eat 
the  chocolates,  of  course,  bless  her !  but  they 
give  it  an  air,  and  I  can  eat  them  for  her. 
And  now  I  must  put  away  towels  and  pillow- 
cases, which  is  not  so  interesting." 

At  this  moment,  however,  the  sound  of 
wheels  was  heard  on  the  gravel,  and  tossing 
the  linen  on  the  bed,  Hildegarde  ran  down  to 
welcome  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Grahame  was  very  tired,  and  was  glad 
to  come  directly  up  to  the  pleasant  room,  and 
sink  down  in  the  comfortable  chair  which 
was  holding  out  its  stout  chintz  arms  to 
receive  her. 

"  What  a  perfect  chair  !  "  she  said,  taking 
off  her  bonnet  and  looking  about  her. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  25 

"  What  a  very  pleasant  room !  I  know  you 
have  given  me  the  best  one,  you  dear  child !  " 

"I  hope  so  !  "  said  Hildegarde.  "I  meant 
to,  certainly —  Oh,  no!"  she  started  for- 
ward and  took  the  bonnet  which  Mrs.  G-rahame 
was  about  to  lay  on  the  table  ;  "  this  table  is 
to  take  things  from,  dear.  I  must  give  you 
another  to  put  things  on." 

"  I  see !  "  said  her  mother,  surveying  the 
decorated  table  with  amusement.  "'This  is  a 
still-life  piece,  and  a  very  pretty  one.  But 
how  can  I  possibly  take  anything  off  it  ?  I 
should  spoil  the  harmony.  The  straw-covered 
cologne-bottle  makes  just  the  proper  back- 
ground for  the  chocolates,  and  though  I 
should  like  to  wet  my  handkerchief  with  it, 
I  do  not  dare  to  disturb  —  " 

"  Take  care !  "  cried  Hildegarde,  snatching 
up  the  bottle  and  deluging  the  handkerchief 
with  its  contents.  "  You  might  hurt  my  feel- 
ings, Mrs.  Grahame,  and  that  would  not  be 


26  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

pleasant  for  either  of  us.  And  you  know  it 
is  pretty,  quand  meme  !  " 

"  It  is,  my  darling,  very  pretty  !  "  said  her 
mother,  "and  you  are  my  dear,  thoughtful 
child,  as  usual.  The  Wordsworth  touch  I 
specially  appreciate.  He  is  so  restful,  with 
his  smooth,  brown  covers.  Your  white 
and  gold  Shelley,  there,  would  have  been 
altogether  too  exciting  for  my  tired  nerves." 

"  Oh !  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  Mr. 
W.'s  covers  !  "  said  Hildegarde  with  cheerful 
malice.  "  They  are  charming  covers.  And 
now  tell  me  what  kind  of  journey  you  had, 
and  how  you  got  through  the  last  agonies, 
and  all  about  it." 

"  Why,  we  got  through  very  well  indeed  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  Janet  was  helpful  and 
quick  as  usual,  and  Hicks  nailed  up  all  the 
boxes,  and  took  charge  of  everything  that 
was  to  be  stored  or  sold.  Sad  work  !  but  I 
am  glad  it  is  done."  She  sighed,  and  Hilde- 


HILDEGARPE'S   HOME.  27 

garde  sat  down  on  the  floor  beside  her,  and 
leaned  her  cheek  against  the  beloved  mother- 
hand. 

"  Dear  !  "  she  said,  and  that  was  all,  for 
each  knew  the  other's  thoughts.  It  was  no 
light  matter,  the  breaking  up  of  a  home 
where  nearly  all  the  young  girl's  life,  and  the 
happiest  years  of  her  mother's,  had  been 
passed.  Every  corner  in  the  New  York 
house  was  filled  with  memories  of  the  dear 
and  noble  man  whom  they  so  truly  mourned, 
and  it  had  seemed  to  them  both,  though  they 
had  not  spoken  of  it,  as  if  in  saying  good-by 
to  the  home  which  he  had  loved,  they  were 
taking  another  and  a  more  final  farewell  of 
him. 

So  they  sat  in  silence  for  a  while,  the  ten- 
der pressure  of  the  hand  saying  more  than 
words  could  have  done  ;  but  when  Mrs.  Gra- 
hame  spoke  at  last,  it  was  in  her  usual  cheer- 
ful tone. 


28  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  So  at  last  everything  was  ready,  and  I 
locked  the  door,  and  gave  the  keys  to  the 
faithful  Hicks"  (Hicks  had  been  the  Grahames' 
butler  for  several  years),  u  and  then  Hicks 
came  down  to  the  station  with  me,  and  did 
everything  that  was  possible  to  secure  a  com- 
fortable journey  for  me  —  and  Janet." 

"  Poor  Hicks !  "  said  Hildegarde,  smiling. 
"  It  must  have  been  very  hard  for  him  to  say 
good-by  to  you —  and  Janet." 

"  I  think  it  was !  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame. 
*'  He  asked  me,  very  wistfully,  if  we  should 
not  need  some  one  to  take  care  of  the  garden, 
and  said  he  was  very  fond  of  out-door  work  ; 
but  I  had  to  tell  him  that  we  should  only 
need  a  '  chore-man,'  to  do  odds  and  ends  of 
work,  and  should  not  keep  a  gardener.  At 
this  he  put  on  a  face  like  three  days  of  rain, 
as  your  Grimm  story  says,  and  the  train 
started,  and  that  was  all. 

"And  now  tell  me,  Sweetheart,"  she  added, 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  29 

"  what  have  been  your  happenings.  First  of 
all,  how  do  you  like  the  house  ? " 

"  Oh,  it's  a  jewel  of  a  house  !  "  replied  Hil- 
degarde  with  enthusiasm.  "  You  told  me  it 
was  pleasant,  but  I  had  no  idea  of  anything 
like  this.  The  verandah  itself  is  worth  the 
whole  of  most  houses.  Then  the  parlour ! 
such  a  wonderful  parlour !  I  am  sure  you 
will  agree  with  me  that  it  would  be  sacrilege 
to  put  any  of  our  modern  belongings  in  it.  I 
did  give  auntie  one  hideous  sofa-pillow,  but 
otherwise  I  have  touched  nothing.  It  is  a 
perfect  museum  of  cross-stitch  embroidery, 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  Miss  Barbara,  Miss 
Agatha,  and  Miss  Hester." 

Mrs.  Grahame  smiled.  "How  did  you  dis- 
cover their  names?"  she  asked.  "I  was 
saving  them  for  an  after-supper  '  tell '  for 
you,  and  now  you  have  stolen  my  thunder, 
you  naughty  child." 

"  Not  a  single  growl  of  it !  "  cried  Hilde- 


30  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

garde  eagerly.  "  I  am  fairly  prancing  with 
impatience  to  hear  about  them.  All  I  know 
is  their  names,  which  I  found  written  on  three 
bow-pots  in  the  cupboard.  I  went  mousing 
about,  like  little  Silver-hair,  and  instead  of 
three  porridge-pots,  found  these.  Miss  Hes- 
ter's was  the  only  pot  that  had  any  '  sniff ' 
left  to  speak  of;  from  which  I  inferred  that 
she  was  the  sprightliest  of  the  three  sisters, 
and  perhaps  the  youngest  and  prettiest.  Now 
dorit  tell  ine  that  she  was  the  eldest,  and  lack- 
adaisical, and  cross-eyed!  " 

"  I  will  not !  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame,  laugh- 
ing. ^  I  will  not  tell  you  anything  till  I  have 
had  my  tea.  I  had  luncheon  at  one  o'clock, 
and  it  is  now —  " 

"Seven!"  cried  Hildegarde,  springing  up, 
and  beating  her  breast.  "You  are  starved, 
my  poor  darling,  and  I  am  a  Jew,  Turk, 
infidel,  and  heretic  ;  I  always  was !  " 

She  ran  out  to  call  Janet ;  when  lo,  there 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  81 

was  Janet  just  coming  up  to  tell  them  that 
tea  was  ready.  She  was  the  prettiest  possible 
Janet,  as  Scotch  as  her  name,  with  rosy 
cheeks  and  wide,  innocent  blue  eyes,  and 
"lint-white  locks,"  as  a  Scotch  lassie  should 
have.  "  No  wonder,"  thought  Hildegarde. 
"that  Hicks  looked  like  'drei  Tage  Regenwet- 
ter'  at  parting  from  her." 

"  Tea  is  ready,  you  say,  Janet  ? "  cried 
Hildegarde.  "  That  is  good,  for  we  are 
'gay  and  ready,'  as  you  say.  Come,  my 
mother!  let  us  go  and  see  what  auntie  has 
for  us." 

Mother  and  daughter  went  down  arm-in- 
arm,  like  two  school-girls.  They  had  to  pick 
their  way  carefully,  for  the  lamps  had  not 
been  lighted,  and  there  was  not  daylight 
enough  to  shed  more  than  a  faint  glimmer 
on  the  winding  stairs  ;  but  when  they  reached 
the  dining-room  a  very  blaze  of  light  greeted 
them.  There  were  no  less  than  six  candles 


32  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

on  the  table,  in  six  silver  candlesticks  shaped 
like  Corinthian  columns.  (Auntie  had  hidden 
these  candlesticks  in  her  own  trunk,  with  a 
special  eye  to  this  effect.)  On  the  table  also 
was  everything  good,  and  hot  blueberry  cake 
beside ;  and  behind  it  stood  auntie  herself, 
very  erect  and  looking  so  solemn  that  Mrs. 
Grahame  and  Hildegarde  stopped  in  the  door- 
way, and  stood  still  for  a  moment.  The  black 
woman  raised  her  head  with  a  gesture  of  ten- 
derness, not  without  majesty. 

"  De  Lord  bless  de  house  to  ye!"  she  said 
solemnly.  "  De  Lord  send  ye  good  victuals, 
and  plenty  of  'em !  De  Lord  grant  ye  never 
want  for  nothin',  forever  an'  ever,  give  glory, 
amen ! " 

And  with  an  answering  "  amen  !  "  on  their 
lips,  Hildegarde  and  her  mother  sat  down  to 
their  first  meal  in  their  new  home. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  83 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    DISH    OF    GOSSIP. 

THE  evening  was  too  lovely  to  spend  in  the 
house,  so  Mrs.  Grahame  and  Hildegarde  went 
from  the  tea-table  out  on  the  verandah,  where 
some  low,  comfortable  straw  chairs  were 
already  placed.  It  was  June,  and  the  air 
was  full  of  the  scent  of  roses,  though  there 
were  none  in  sight.  There  was  no  moon,  but 
it  was  hardly  missed,  so  brilliant  were  the 
stars,  flashing  their  golden  light  down  through 
the  elm-branches. 

They  sat  for  some  time,  enjoying  the  quiet 
beauty  of  the  night.  Then  —  "I  think  we 
shall  be  happy  here,  dear !  "  said  Hildegarde 
softly.  "  It  feels  like  home  already." 


34  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that !  "  replied 
her  mother.  "  Surely  the  place  itself  is 
charming.  I  hope,  too,  that  you  may  find 
some  pleasant  companions,  of  your  own  age. 
Yes,  I  can  see  you  shake  your  head,  even  in 
the  dark ;  and  of  course  we  shall  be  together 
constantly,  my  darling  ;  but  I  still  hope  you 
will  find  some  girl  friend,  since  dear  Rose 
(Rose  was  Hildegarde's  bosom  friend)  cannot 
be  with  us  this  summer.  Now  tell  me,  did 
you  find  Mrs.  Lankton  here  when  you  ar- 
rived ?  We  don't  seem  to  have  come  down  to 
details  yet." 

Hildegarde  began  to  laugh. 

"  I  should  think  we  did  find  her  !  "  she  said. 
"  Your  coming  put  it  all  out  of  my  head,  you 
see.  Well,  when  auntie  and  I  drove  up,  there 
was  this  funny  little  old  dame  standing  in 
the  doorway,  looking  so  like  Mrs.  Gummidge 
that  T  wanted  to  ask  her  on  the  spot  if  Mr. 
Peggotty  was  at  home.  She  began  shaking 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  35 

her  head  and  sighing,  before  we  could  get 
out  of  the  wagon.  'Ah,  dear  me!'  she  said. 
'  Dear  me !  and  this  is  the  young  lady,  I 
suppose.  Ah  !  yes,  indeed  !  And  the  house- 
keeper, I  suppose.  Well,  well !  I'm  proper 
glad  to  see  you.  Ah,  dear,  dear ! '  All  this 
was  said  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  dejection, 
and  she  kept  on  shaking  her  head  and  sigh- 
ing. Auntie  spoke  up  pretty  smartly,  '  I'm 
de  cook!'  she  said.  'If  you'll  take  dis  basket, 
ma'am,  we'll  do  de  lamintations  ourselves ! ' 
Mrs.  Lankton  didn't  hear  the  last  part  of  the 
remark,  but  she  took  the  basket,  and  auntie 
and  I  jumped  out.  '  I  suppose  you  are  Mrs. 
Lankton,  the  care-taker,'  I  said,  as  cheerfully 
as  I  could.  '  Ah,  yes,  dear  ! '  she  said,  mourn- 
fully. 'I'm  Mrs.  Lankton,  the  widow  Lank- 
ton,  housekeeper  to  Mr.  Aytoim  as  was,  and 
care-taker  since  his  dee-cease.  I've  took  care, 
Miss  Grahame,  my  dear.  There  ain't  no  one 
could  keep  things  more  car'ful  nor  I  have.  If 


36  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

I've  had  trouble,  it  hasn't  made  me  no  less 
car'ful.  Ah,  dear  me  !  it's  a  sorrowful  world. 
Perhaps  you'd  like  to  come  in.'  This  seemed 
to  be  a  new  idea  to  her,  though  we  had  been 
standing  with  our  hands  full  of  bundles,  only 
waiting  for  her  to  move.  She  led  the  way 
into  the  hall.  <  This  is  the  hall ! '  she  said 
sadly;  and  then  she  stood  shaking  her  head 
like  a  melancholy  mandarin.  '  I  s'pose  'tis  !  ' 
said  auntie,  who  was  quite  furious  by  this 
time,  and  saw  no  fun  in  it  at  all.  '  And  I 
s'pose  dis  is  a  door,  and  I'll  go  t'rough  it.' 
And  off  she  flounced  through  the  door  at  the 
back  of  the  hall,  where  she  found  the  kitchen 
for  herself,  as  we  could  tell  by  the  rattling  of 
pans  which  followed.  '  She's  got  a  temper, 
ain't  she  ? '  said  Mrs.  Lankton  sadly.  '  Most 
coloured  people  has.  There  !  I  had  one  my- 
self, before  'twas  took  out  of  me  by  trouble. 
Not  that  I've  got  any  coloured  blood  in  me, 
for  my  father  was  Nova  Scoshy  and  my 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  37 

mother  State  of  New  York.  Shall  I  take-yon 
through  the  house,  dear  ? ' 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Lankton !  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame, 
laughing.  "  She  is  the  very  spirit  of  melan- 
choly. I  believe  she  has  really  had  a  good 
deal  of  trouble.  Well,  dear  ?  " 

"  Well,"  resumed  Hildegarde,  "  I  really 
could  not  have  her  spoil  all  the  fun  of  going 
over  the  house  for  me ;  though  of  course  she 
was  great  fun  herself  in  a  way.  So  I  thanked 
her,  and  said  I  would  not  give  her  the  trouble, 
and  said  I  supposed  she  lived  near,  and  we 
should  often  call  on  her  when  we  wanted  extra 
help.  '  So  do,  dear  !  '  she  said, '  so  do  !  I  live 
right  handy  by,  in  a  brown  cottage  with  a  green 
door,  the  only  brown  cottage,  and  the  only 
green  door,  so  you  can't  mistake  me.  You've 
got  beautiful  neighbours,  too,'  she  added,  still 
in  the  depths  of  melancholy.  '  Beautiful 
neighbours  !  Mis'  Loftus  lives  in  the  stone 
house  over  yonder.  Ah,  dear  me  !  She  and 


38  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

her  darter,  they  don't  never  set  foot  to  the 
ground,  one  year's  eend  to  the  other.'  '  Dear 
me !  '  I  said.  '  Are  they  both  such  invalids  ? ' 
6  No,  dear  !  '  said  she,  sighing  as  if  she  wished 
they  were.  e  Carriage  folks  ;  great  carriage 
folks.  Then  there's  Colonel  Ferrers  lives  in 
the  brick  house  across  the  way.  Beautiful 
man,  but  set  in  his  ways.  Never  speaks  to  a 
soul,  one  year's  eend  to  the  other,  in  the  way 
o'  talk,  that  is.  Ah  !  dear  me,  yes  ! ' 

"  It  sounds  like  Alice  in  Wonderland ! " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  In  that  direction 
lives  a  Hatter,  and  in  that  direction  lives  a 
March  Hare.  Visit  either  you  like  !  they're 
both  mad." 

"  Oh,  Mammina,  it  is  exactly  like  it !  "  cried 
Hildegarde,  clapping  her  hands.  "  You  clever 
Mammina !  I  wonder  if  Colonel  Ferrers  has 
long  ears,  and  if  his  roof  is  thatched  with 
fur." 

"  Hush ! "  said  her  mother,  laughing.    "  This 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  39 

will  not  do.  I  know  Colonel  Ferrers,  and  he 
is  an  excellent  man,  though  a  trifle  singular. 
Well,  dear,  how  did  you  part  with  your  mel- 
ancholy dame  ?" 

"  She  went  away  then,"  said  Hildegarde. 
"  Oh,  no,  she  didn't.  I  forgot !  she  did  insist 
upon  showing  me  the  room  where  Uncle  Aytoun 
died  ;  and  —  oh !  mamma,  it  is  almost  too  bad 
to  tell,  and  yet  it  was  very  funny.  She  said 
he  died  like  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  made  a 
beautiful  remains.  Then,  at  last,  she  said 
good-night  and  charged  me  to  send  for  her  if 
any  of  us  should  be  ill  in  the  night.  '  Comin' 
strange  in,'  she  said,  '  it's  likely  to  disagree 
with  some  of  you,  and  in  spasms  or  anything 
suddint,  I'm  dretful  knowin'.'  So  she  went 
off  at  last,  and  it  took  me  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  get  auntie  into  a  good  temper  again." 

They  laughed  heartily  at  Mrs.  Lankton's 
idea  of  "the  parting  word  of  cheer";  and 
then  Hildegarde  reminded  her  mother  of  the 


40  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  tell "  she  had  promised  her.  "  I  want  to 
know  all  about  the  three  ladies,"  she  said. 
"  They  seem  more  real  than  Dame  Lankton, 
somehow,  for  they  belong  here,  and  she  never 
could  have.  So  '  come  tell  me  all,  my 
mother,  all,  all  that  ever  you  know  ! ' : 

"  It  is  not  so  very  much,  after  all,"  replied 
Mrs.  Grahame,  after  a  moment's  thought.  "  I 
came  here  once  with  my  father,  when  I  was 
about  ten  years  old,  and  stayed  two  t>r  three 
days.  Miss  Hester  was  already  dead;  she 
was  the  youngest,  the  beauty  of  the  family, 
and  she  was  still  young  when  she  died.  Miss 
Barbara  was  the  eldest,  a  tall,  slender  woman, 
with  a  high  nose  ;  very  kind,  but  a  little  stiff 
and  formal.  She  was  the  head  of  the  family, 
and  very  religious.  It  was  Saturday,  I  re- 
member, when  we  came,  and  she  gave  me 
some  lovely  Chinese  ivory  toys  to  play  with, 
which  filled  the  whole  horizon  for  me.  But 
the  next  morning  she  took  them  away,  and 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  41 

gave  me  Baxter's  '  Saint's  Best,'  which  she 
said  I  must  read  all  the  morning,  as  I  had  a 
cold  and  could  not  go  to  church." 

"Poor  Mammina!  "  said  Hildegarde. 

"  Not  so  poor,"  said  her  mother,  smiling. 
"  Miss  Agatha  came  to  the  rescue,  and  took 
me  up  to  her  room,  and  let  me  look  in  the 
drawers  of  a  wonderful  old  cabinet,  full  of 
what  your  dear  father  used  to  call  6  pick- 
nickles  and  bucknickles.' ' 

"  Oh  !  I  know  ;  I  found  the  cabinet  yester- 
day !"  cried  Hildegarde  in  delight.  "I  had 
not  time  to  look  into  it,  but  it  was  all  drawers  ; 
a  dark,  foreign-looking  thing,  inlaid  with 
ivory !  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  her  mother.  "  I 
wonder  if  the  funny  things  are  still  in  it  ? 
Miss  Agatha  was  an  invalid,  and  her  room 
looked  as  if  she  lived  in  it  a  good  deal.  She 
told  me  Bible  stories  in  her  soft,  feeble  voice, 
and  showed  me  a  very  wonderful  set  of 


42  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

coloured  prints  illustrating  the  Old  Testament. 
I  remember  distinctly  that  Joseph's  coat  was 
striped,  red,  green,  yellow,  and  blue,  like  a 
mattress  ticking  gone  mad,  and  that  the  she- 
bear  who  came  to  devour  the  naughty  chil- 
dren was  bright  pink." 

"Oh !  delightful!  "  cried  Hildegarde,  laugh- 
ing. "I  must  try  to  find  those  prints." 

"  She  told  me,  too,  about  her  sister  Hes- 
ter," Mrs.  Grahame  went  on;  "how  beautiful 
she  was,  and  how  bright  and  gay  and  light- 
hearted.  '  She  was  the  sunshine,  my  dear, 
and  we  are  the  shadow,  Barbara  and  I,'  she 
said.  I  remember  the  very  words.  And  then 
she  showed  me  a  picture,  a  miniature  on 
ivory,  of  a  lovely  girl  of  sixteen,  holding  a 
small  harp  in  her  arms.  She  had  large  grey 
eyes,  I  remember,  and  long  fair  curls.  Dear 
me !  how  it  all  comes  back  to  me,  after  the 
long,  long  years.  I  can  almost  see  that  mini- 
ature now.  Why  —  why,  Hilda,  it  had  a 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  43 

little  look  of  you;  or,  rather,  you  look  like 
it." 

The  girl  flushed  rosy  red.  "  I  am  glad," 
she  said  softly.  "  And  she  died  young,  you 
say?  Miss  Hester,  I  mean." 

"  At  twenty-two  or  three,"  assented  her 
mother.  "  It  was  consumption,  I  believe. 
Cousin  Wealthy  Bond  once  told  me  that 
Hester  had  some  sad  love  affair,  but  I  know 
nothing  more  about  it.  I  do  know,  however, 
that  Uncle  Aytoun  (he  was  the  only  brother, 
you  know,  and  spent  much  of  his  life  at  sea), 
I  do  know  that  he  was  desperately  in  love 
with  dear  Cousin  Wealthy  herself." 

"Oh!"  crie&  Hildegarde.  "Poor  old 
gentleman  !  She  couldn't,  of  course ;  but  I 
am  sorry  for  him." 

"  He  was  not  old  then,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame, 
smiling.  "He  knew  of  Cousin  Wealthy 's 
own  trouble,  but  he  was  very  much  in  love, 
and  hoped  he  could  make  her  forget  it.  One 


44  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

day  —  Cousin  Wealthy  told  me  this  years  and 
years  afterward,  apropos  of  my  own  engage- 
ment —  one  day  Captain  Aytoun  came  to  see 
her,  and  as  it  was  a  beautiful  summer  day,  she 
took  him  out  into  the  garden  to  see  some  rare 
lilies  that  were  just  in  blossom.  He  looked  at 
the  lilies,  but  said  little  ;  he  was  a  very  silent 
man.  Presently  he  pulled  out  his  card-case, 
and  took  from  it  a  visiting-card,  on  which 
was  engraved  his  name,  '  Robert  F.  Aytoun.' 
He  wrote  something  on  the  card,  and  handed 
it  to  Cousin  Wealthy  ;  and  she  read,  e  Robert 
F.  Aytoun' s  heart  is  yours.' ' 

"  Mammina  !  "  cried  Hildegarde.  "  Can  it 
be  true  ?  It  is  too  funny  !  But  what  could 
she  say  ?  Dear  Cousin  Wealthy  !  " 

"I  remember  her  very  words,"  said  Mrs. 
Graharne.  "  '  Captain  Aytoun,  it  is  not  my 
intention  ever  to  marry ;  but  I  esteem  your 
friendship  highly,  and  I  thank  you  for  the 
hon  jur  you  offer  me.  Permit  me  to  call  your 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  45 

attention  to  this  new  variety  of  ranunculus/ 
But  the  poor  captain  said,  —  Cousin  Wealthy 
could  hardly  bring  herself  to  repeat  this, 
for  she  thought  it  very  shocking,  • — '  Con- 
found the  ranunculus  ! '  and  strode  out  of  the 
garden  and  away.  And  Cousin  Wealthy  took 
the  card  into  the  house,  and  folded  it  up,  and 
wound  pearl-coloured  silk  on  it.  It  may  be 
in  her  work-basket  now,  for  she  never  de- 
stroys anything." 

"  Oh  !  that  was  a  most  delightful  <  tell ' ! " 
sighed  Hildegarde.  "  And  now  go  on  about 
Miss  Agatha." 

"  I  fear  that  is  all,  dear,"  said  her  mother. 
"I  remember  singing  some  hymns,  which 
pleased  the  kind  cousin.  Then  Miss  Barbara 
came  home  from  church ;  and  I  rather  think 
her  conscience  had  been  pricking  her  about 
the  '  Saint's  Rest,'  for  she  took  me  down  and 
gave  me  some  delicious  jelly  of  rose  leaves, 
which  she  said  was  good  for  a  cold.  We  had 


46  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

waffles  for  tea,  I  remember,  and  we  put  cinna- 
mon and  sugar  on  them ;  I  had  never  tasted 
the  combination  before,  so  I  remember  it.  It 
was  in  a  glass  dish  shaped  like  a  pineapple. 
And  after  tea  Miss  Barbara  tinkled  '  Jeru- 
salem, the  Golden '  on  the  piano,  and  we  all 
sang,  and  I  went  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock. 
And  that  reminds  me,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame, 
"  that  it  must  now  be  ten  o'clock  or  after,  and 
6  time  for  all  good  little  constitutional  queens 
to  be  in  bed.'  " 

"Oh!  must  we  go  to  bed?"  sighed  Hilde- 
garde.  "It  is  so  very  particularly  lovely 
here.  Well,  I  suppose  we  should  have  to  go 
some  time.  Good-night,  dear  stars!  good- 
night, all  beautiful  things  that  I  know  are 
there,  though  I  cannot  see  you !  " 

Hildegarde  helped  her  mother  to  lock  up 
the  house,  and  then,  after  a  parting  word  and 
caress,  she  took  her  candle  and  went  to  the 
room  she  had  chosen  for  her  own.  It  opened 


HILDEGARDE'S    HOME.  47 

out  of  her  mother's  dressing-room,  so  that  by 
setting  the  doors  ajar,  they  could  talk  to  each 
other  when  so  minded ;  and  it  had  a  dressing- 
room  of  its  own  on  the  other  side,  from 
which  a  flight  of  narrow,  corkscrew  stairs 
descended  to  the  ground  floor.  These  stairs 
had  attracted  Hildegarde  particularly.  It 
seemed  very  pleasant  and  important  to  have 
a  staircase  of  one's  own,  which  no  one  else 
could  use.  It  is  true  that  it  was  very  dark, 
very  crooked  and  steep,  but  that  was  no 
matter.  The  bedroom  itself  was  large  and 
airy ;  a  little  bare,  perhaps,  but  Hildegarde 
did  not  mind  that.  The  white  paint  was 
very  fresh  and  clean,  and  set  off  the  few 
pieces  of  dark  old  mahogany  furniture  well, — 
a  fine  bureau,  with  the  goddess  Aurora  career- 
ing in  brass  across  the  front  of  the  top 
drawer ;  a  comfortable  sofa,  with  cushions 
of  the  prettiest  pale  green  chintz,  with  rose- 
buds scattered  over  it ;  a  round  table  ;  a  few 


48  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

spider-legged  chairs ;  and  a  nondescript  piece 
of  furniture,  half  dressing-table,  half  chest  of 
drawers,  which  was  almost  as  mysteriously 
promising  as  the  inlaid  cabinet  in  Miss 
Agatha's  room.  The  bed  was  large  and 
solemn-looking,  with  carved  posts  topped  by 
pineapples.  The  floor  was  bare,  save  for  a 
square  of  ancient  Turkey  carpet  in  the  middle. 
Hildegarde  held  the  candle  above  her  head,  and 
surveyed  her  new  quarters  with  satisfaction. 

"  Nice  room  !  "  she  said,  nodding  her  head. 
"  The  sort  of  room  I  have  been  thinking 
of  ever  since  I  outgrew  flounces,  and  bows 
on  the  chairs.  Dear  papa  !  When  I  was  at 
the  height  of  the  flounce  fever,  he  begged 
me  to  have  a  frock  and  trousers  made 
for  the  grand  piano,  as  he  was  sure  it  must 
wound  my  sensibilities  to  see  it  so  bare. 
Dear  papa !  He  would  like  this  room,  too. 
It  is  a  little  strange-garrety  to-night,  but 
wait  till  I  get  the  Penates  out  to-morrow ! " 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  49 

She  nodded  again,  and  then,  putting  on 
her  wrapper,  proceeded  to  brush  out  her  long, 
fair  hair.  It  was  beautiful  hair ;  and  as  it 
fell  in  shining  waves  from  the  brush,  Hilde- 
garde  began  to  think  again  of  the  dead 
Hester,  who  had  had  fair  hair,  too,  and  whom 
her  mother  had  thought  she  resembled  a 
little.  She  hoped  that  this  might  have  been 
Hester's  room.  Indeed,  she  had  chosen  it 
partly  with  this  idea,  though  chiefly  because 
she  wished  to  be  near  her  mother.  It  cer- 
tainly was  not  Miss  Agatha's  room,  for  that 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage.  Her 
mother's  room  had  been  Miss  Barbara's,  she 
was  quite  sure,  for  "  B "  was  embroidered  on 
the  faded  cover  of  the  dressing-table.  An- 
other large  room  was  too  rigid  in  its  aspect 
to  have  been  anything  but  a  spare  room  or  a 
death  chamber,  and  Mr.  Aytoun's  own  room, 
where  he  had  died  like  a  gentleman  and 
become  a  "beautiful  remains,"  was  on  the 


50  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

ground  floor.  Therefore,  it  was  very  plain, 
this  must  have  been  Hester's  room.  Here 
she  had  lived  her  life,  a  girl  like  herself, 
thought  Hildegarde,  and  had  been  gay  and 
light-hearted,  the  sunshine  of  the  house ;  and 
then  she  had  suffered,  and  faded  away 
and  died.  It  was  with  a  solemn  feeling  that 
the  young  girl  climbed  up  into  the  great  bed, 
and  laid  her  head  where  that  other  fair  head 
had  lain.  Who  could  tell  what  was  coming 
to  her,  too,  in  this  room  ?  And  could  she 
make  sunshine  for  her  mother,  who  had  lost 
the  great  bright  light  which  had  warmed  and 
cheered  her  during  so  many  years?  Then 
her  thoughts  turned  to  that  other  light  which 
had  never  failed  this  dear  mother ;  and  so, 
with  a  murmured  "  My  times  be  in  thy 
hand  !  "  Hildegarde  fell  asleep. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  51 


CHAPTER  III. 

MORNING    HOURS. 

"The  year's  at  the  spring, 
And  day's  at  the  morn: 
Morning's  at  seven ; 
The  hill-side's  dew-pearled  : 
The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God's  in  his  heaven  — 
All's  right  with  the  world  I" 

THESE  seemed  the  most  natural  words  to 
sing,  as  Hildegarde  looked  out  of  her  window 
next  morning;  and  sing  them  she  did,  with 
all  her  heart,  as  she  threw  open  the  shutters 
and  let  the  glad  June  sunlight  stream  into 
the  room.  All  sad  thoughts  were  gone  with 
the  night,  and  now  there  seemed  nothing  but 
joy  in  the  world. 


52  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"Where  art  thou,  tub  of  my  heart?"  cried 
the  girl ;  and  she  dived  under  the  bed,  and 
pulled  out  the  third  reason  for  her  choosing 
this  room.  Her  mother,  she  knew,  would 
not  change  for  anything  the  comfortable 
"sitz,"  the  friend  of  many  years;  so  Hilde- 
garde  felt  at  full  liberty  to  enjoy  this  great 
white  porcelain  tub,  shallow,  three  feet  across, 
with  red  and  blue  fishes  swimming  all  over  it. 
She  did  not  know  that  Captain  Robert  Aytoun 
had  brought  it  in  the  hold  of  his  ship  all  the 
way  from  Singapore,  for  his  little  Hester,  but 
she  did  know  that  it  was  the  most  delightful 
tub  she  had  ever  dreamed  of;  and  as  she 
splashed  the  crystal  water  about,  she  almost 
ceased,  for  the  first  time,  to  regret  the  blue 
river  which  had  been  her  daily  bathing-place 
the  summer  before.  Very  fresh  and  sweet 
she  looked,  when  at  last  the  long  locks  were 
braided  in  one  great  smooth  braid,  and  the 
pretty  grey  gingham  put  on  and  smoothed 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  53 

down.  She  nodded  cheerfully  to  her  image 
in  the  glass.  It  was,  as  dear  Cousin  Wealthy 
said,  a  privilege  to  be  good-looking,  and  Hil- 
degarde  was  simply  and  honestly  glad  of  her 
beauty. 

"Now,"  she  said,  when  the  room  was 
"  picked  up,"  and  everything  aerable  hung  up 
to  air,  "  the  question  is,  Go  out  first  and  ar- 
range the  Penates  after  breakfast,  or  arrange 
the  Penates  now  and  go  out  later?"  One 
more  glance  from  the  window  decided  the 
matter.  "  They  must  wait,  poor  dears !  After 
all,  it  is  more  respectful  to  take  them  out 
when  the  room  is  made  up  than  when  it  is 
having  its  sheet  and  pillow-case  party,  like 
this." 

She  went  down  her  own  staircase  with  a 
proud  sense  of  possession,  and  opening  the 
door  at  its  foot,  found  herself  in  a  little  cov- 
ered porch,  from  which  a  flagged  walk  led 
toward  the  back  of  the  house.  Here  was  a 


54  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

pleasant  sort  of  yard,  partly  covered  with 
broad  flags,  with  a  grassy  space  beyond. 
Here  were  clothes-lines,  well,  and  woodshed ; 
and  here  was  auntie,  standing  at  her  kitchen 
door,  and  looking  well  satisfied  with  her  new 
quarters. 

"  What  a  pleasant  yard,  auntie ! "  said  Hil- 
degarde.  "  This  is  your  own  domain,  isn't 
it?" 

"Reckon  'tis!"  replied  the  good  woman, 
smiling.  "  Jes'  suits  me,  dis  does.  I  kin 
have  some  chickens  here,  and  do  my  washin' 
out-doors,  and  spread  out  some,  'stead  o'  bein' 
cooped  up  like  a  old  hen  myself." 

A  high  wall  surrounded  auntie's  domain, 
and  Hildegarde  looked  round  it  wonderingly. 

"  Oh  !  there  is  a  door,"  she  said.  "  I 
thought  mamma  said  there  was  a  garden. 
That  must  be  it,  beyond  there.  Call  me  when 
breakfast  is  ready,  please,  auntie."  Passing 
through  the  door,  she  closed  it  after  her, 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  55 

and  entered  —  another  world.  A  dim,  green 
world,  wholly  different  from  the  golden, 
sunny  one  she  had  just  left;  a  damp  world, 
where  the  dew  lay  heavy  on  shrubs  and  bor- 
ders, and  dripped  like  rain  from  the  long, 
pendent  branches  of  the  trees.  The  paths 
were  damp,  and  covered  with  fine  green  moss. 
Great  hedges  of  box  grew  on  either  side,  un- 
trimmed,  rising  as  high  as  the  girl's  head ; 
and  as  she  walked  between  them  their  cool 
glossy  leaves  brushed  against  her  cheek. 
Here  and  there  was  a  neglected  flower-bed, 
where  a  few  pallid  rosebuds  looked  sadly 
out,  and  pinks  flung  themselves  headlong 
over  the  border,  as  if  trying  to  reach  the 
sunlight ;  but  for  the  most  part  the  box  and 
the  great  elms  and  locusts  had  it  their  own 
way.  Hildegarde  had  never  seen  such 
locust-trees  !  They  were  as  tall  as  the  elms, 
their  trunks  scarred  and  rough  with  the 
frosts  of  many  winters.  No  birds  sang  in 


56  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

their  green,  whispering  depths ;  the  silence 
of  the  place  was  heavy,  weighted  down  with 
memories  of  vanished  things. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  come  here ! "  said 
Hildegarde  to  herself.  "  I  am  sure  they 
would  not  like  it."  Something  white  glim- 
mered between  the  bending  boughs  of  box 
which  interlaced  across  her  path.  She  half 
expected  to  see  a  shadowy  form  confront  her 
and  wave  her  back ;  but,  pushing  on,  she  saw 
a  neglected  summer-house,  entirely  covered 
with  the  wild  clematis  called  virgin' s-bower. 
She  peeped  in,  but  did  not  venture  across 
the  threshold,  because  it  looked  as  if  there 
might  be  spiders  in  it.  Through  the  oppo- 
site door,  however,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  very  different  prospect,  a  flash  of  yellow 
sunlight,  a  sunny  meadow  stretching  up  and 
away.  Skirting  the  summer-house  carefully, 
she  came  upon  a  stone  wall,  the  boundary 
of  the  garden,  beyond  which  the  broad 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  57 

meadow  lay  full  in  the  sunlight.  Sitting 
on  this  wall,  Hildegarde  felt  as  if  half  of 
her  were  in  one  world,  and  half  in  the 
other ;  for  the  dark  box  and  the  drooping 
elm-branches  came,  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
wall,  while  all  beyond  was  rioting  in  morn- 
ing and  sunshine. 

"The  new  world  and  the  old  one, 
The  green  world  arid  the  gold  one  ! " 

she  murmured,  and  smiled  to  find  herself 
dropping  into  poetry,  like  Silas  Wegg. 

At  this  moment  a  faint  sound  fell  on  her 
ear,  a  far-away  voice,  which  belonged  wholly 
to  the  golden  world,  and  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  green.  "  Hi-ya !  Miss 
Hildy  chile  !  "  the  mellow  African  voice  came 
floating  down  through  the  trees  with  an  im- 
perious summons ;  and  Hildegarde  jumped 
down  from  her  stone  perch,  and  came  out 
of  her  dream,  and  went  in  to  breakfast. 


58  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"And  what  is  to  be  done,  Mammina?" 
asked  Hildegarde,  when  the  "  eggs  and  the 
ham  and  the  strawberry  jam  "  were  things  of 
the  past,  and  they  were  out  on  the  piazza 
again.  "  Do  you  realise,  by  the  way,  that  we 
shall  live  chiefly  on  this  piazza  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  a  most  delightful  place," 
said  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  And  I  do  realise  that 
while  it  would  be  quite  out  of  the  question  to 
change  anything  in  Miss  Barbara's  sacred 
parlour,  it  is  not  exactly  the  place  to  be  cosy 
in.  But,  dear  child,  I  shall  have  to  be  in  my 
own  room  a  good  deal,  as  this  arranging  of 
your  dear  father's  papers  will  be  my  chief 
work  through  the  summer,  probably." 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  and  I  shall  be  in  my  room 
a  good  deal,  for  there  is  sewing,  and  all  that 
German  I  am  going  to  read,  and  —  oh,  and 
quantities  of  things  to  do !  But  still  we 
shall  live  here  a  great  deal,  I  am  sure.  It  is 
just  a  great  pleasant  room,  with  one  side  of 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  59 

it  taken  off.  And  it  is  very  quiet,  with  the 
strip  of  lawn,  and  the  ledge  beyond.  One 
cannot  see  the  road,  except  just  a  bit  through 
the  gate.  Sometimes  you  can  bring  your 
writing  down  here,  and  I  can  grub  in  the 
flower-bed  and  disturb  you." 

"Thank  you!"  said  her  mother,  laughing. 
"  The  prospect  is  singularly  attractive.  But, 
dear,  you  asked  me  a  few  minutes  ago  what 
was  to  be  done.  I  thought  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant if  we  took  out  our  various  little  belong- 
ings, and  disposed  them  here  and  there." 

"Just  what  I  was  longing  to  do!"  cried 
Hildegarde.  "All  my  precious  alicumtweezles 
are  crying  out  from  the  trunk,  and  waiting 
for  me.  But  don't  you  want  me  to  see  the 
butcher  for  you,  love,  or  let  auntie  tell  me 
what  she  is  going  to  make  for  dessert,  or 
perform  any  other  sacred  after-breakfast 
rites  ?" 

Mrs.  Grahame  shook  her  head,  smiling,  and 


60  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Hildegarde  flew  upstairs,  like  an  arrow  shot 
from  a  bow. 

In  her  room  stood  a  huge  trunk,  already 
unlocked  and  unstrapped,  and  a  box  whose 
aspect  said  plainly  that  it  contained  books. 
All  the  dresses  had  been  taken  out  the  day 
before  and  hung  in  the  roomy  closet,  pretty, 
simple  gowns,  mostly  white  or  grey,  for  the 
dear  father  had  disliked  kk  mourning"  ex- 
tremely. Now  Hildegarde  took  out  her  hats, 
the  broad-brimmed  straw  with  the  white  daisy 
wreath,  the  pretty  white  shirred  mull  for  best, 
the  black  " rough  and  ready"  sailor  for  com- 
mon wear.  These  were  laid  carefully  on  a 
shelf  in  the  closet,  and  covered  with  a  light 
cloth  to  keep  them  from  dust.  This  done 
as  a  matter  of  duty,  the  pleasant  part  began. 
One  after  another,  a  most  astonishing  array  of 
things  were  taken  from  the  trunk  and  laid  on 
the  bed,  which  spread  a  broad  white  surface 
to  receive  them :  a  trinket-box  of  ebony  and 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  61 

silver;  a  plaster  cast  of  the  Venus  of  Milo, 
another  of  the  Pompeian  Psyche,  both 
"treated"  in  some  way  that  gave  them  the 
smooth  lustre  of  old  ivory ;  a  hideous  little 
Indian  idol,  carved  out  of  dark  wood,  with 
eyes  of  real  carbuncle ;  a  doll's  tea-set  of 
exquisite  blue  and  white  china,  brought  to 
Hildegarde  from  Pekin  by  a  wandering  uncle, 
when  she  was  eight  years  old ;  a  stuffed 
hawk,  confidently  asserted  by  its  owner  to  be 
the  original  "jolly  gosshawk  "  of  the  Scottish 
ballad,  which  could  "  speak  and  flee  "  ;  a  Swiss 
cuckoo  clock ;  several  great  pink-lipped  shells ; 
a  butterfly  net ;  a  rattlesnake's  skin ;  an  ex- 
quisite statuette  of  carved  wood,  representing 
Theodoric,  King  of  the  Ostrogoths,  a  copy 

•        * 

of  the  famous  bronze  statue  at  Innsbruck ;  a 
large  assortment  of  pasteboard  boxes,  of  all 
sizes  and  shapes  ;  three  or  four  work-baskets  ; 
last  of  all,  some  framed  photographs  and 
engravings,  and  a  number  of  polished  pieces 


62  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

of  wood,  which  were  speedily  put  together 
into  a  bookcase  and  two  or  three  hanging 
shelves.  On  these  shelves  and  on  the  man- 
tel-piece the  various  alicumtweezles  were  ar- 
ranged and  re-arranged,  till  at  length  Hilde- 
garde  gave  a  satisfied  nod  and  pronounced 
them  perfect.  "  But  now  comes  the  hard 
part !  "  she  said.  "  The  pictures  !  Who  shall 
have  the  post  of  honour  over  the  mantel-piece  ? 
Come  here,  dear  persons,  and  let  me  look  at 
you ! "  She  took  up  two  engravings,  both 
framed  in  gilt  laurel  leaves,  and  studied  them 
attentively.  One  was  the  portrait  of  a  man 
in  cavalier  dress,  strikingly  handsome,  with 
dark,  piercing  eyes  and  long,  curling  hair. 
The  expression  of  the  face  was  melancholy, 
almost  sombre ;  yet  there  was  a  strange  fasci- 
nation in  its  stern  gaze.  On  the  margin  was 
written,  — 

"John  Grahame  of  Claverhouse, 
"Viscount  Dundee." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  68 

The  other  portrait  showed  an  older  man,  clad 
in  a  quaint  dress,  with  a  hat  that  would  have 
been  funny  on  any  other  head,  but  seemed  not 
out  of  place  here.  The  face  was  not  beau- 
tiful, but  calm  and  strong,  with  earnest, 
thoughtful  eyes,  and  a  firm  mouth  and  chin. 
The  legend  bore,  in  curious  black-letter,  the 

words,  — 

"  William  of  Orange  Nassau, 
"  Hereditary  Grand  Stadt-holder  of  the  Netherlands." 

No  one  save  Hildegarde  knew  that  on  the 
back  of  this  picture,  turned  upside  down  in 
perpetual  disgrace  and  ridicule,  was  a  hideous 
little  photograph  of  Philip  II.  of  Spain.  It 
was  a  constant  gratification  to  her  to  know 
that  it  was  there,  and  she  occasionally,  as 
now,  turned  it  round  and  made  insulting 
remarks  to  it.  She  hoped  the  great  Granger 
liked  to  know  of  this  humiliation  of  his  coun- 
try's foe;  but  William  the  Silent  kept  his 
own  counsel,  as  was  always  his  way. 


64  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

And  now  the  question  was,  Which  hero  was 
to  have  the  chief  place  ? 

"  You  are  the  great  one,  of  course,  my 
saint !  "  said  Hildegarde,  gazing  into  the  calm 
eyes  of  the  majestic  Dutchman,  "  and  we  all 
know  it.  But  you  see,  he  is  an  ancestor,  and 
so  many  people  hate  him,  poor  dear !  " 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  till  the 
fixed  gaze  of  the  pictured  eyes  grew  really 
uncomfortable,  and  she  fancied  that  she  saw 
a  look  of  impatience  in  those  of  the  Scottish 
chieftain.  Then  she  looked  again  at  the 
space  above  the  mantel-piece,  and,  after  meas- 
uring it  carefully  with  her  eyes,  came  to  a 
new  resolution. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  taking  up  a  third  pict- 
ure, a  beautiful  photograph  of  the  Sistine 
Madonna,  "  I  put  her  in  the  middle,  and  you 
on  each  side,  and  then  neither  of  you  can 
say  a  word." 

This  arrangement  gave  great  satisfaction ; 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  65 

and  the  other  pictures,  the  Correggio  cher- 
ubs, Kaulbach's  "Lili,"  the  Raphael  "violin- 
player,"  and  "St.  Cecilia,"  were  easily  dis- 
posed of  on  the  various  panels,  while  over 
the  dressing-table,  where  she  could  see  it 
from  her  bed,  was  a  fine  print  of  Murillo's 
lovely  "  Guardian  Angel." 

Hildegarde  drew  a  long  breath  of  satisfac- 
tion as  she  looked  round  on  her  favourites  in 
their  new  home.  "  So  dear  they  are  !  "  she 
said  fondly.  "  I  wish  Hester  could  see  them. 
Don't  you  suppose  she  had  any  pictures? 
There  are  no  marks  of  any  on  the  wall. 
Well,  and  now  for  the  books !  " 

Hammer  and  screwdriver  were  brought, 
and  soon  the  box  was  opened  and  the  books 
in  their  places.  Would  any  girls  like  to  know 
what  Hildegarde's  books  are?  Let  us  take 
a  glance  at  them,  as  they  stand  in  neat  rows 
on  the  plain,  smooth  shelves.  Those  big  vol- 
umes on  the  lowest  shelf  are  Scudder's 


66  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"Butterflies,"  a  highly  valued  work,  full  of 
coloured  plates,  over  which  Hildegarde  sighs 
with  longing  rapture ;  for,  from  collecting 
moths  and  butterflies  for  her  friend,  Bubble 
Chirk,  she  has  become  an  ardent  collector 
herself,  and  in  one  of  the  unopened  cases 
downstairs  is  an  oak  cabinet  with  glass- 
covered  drawers,  very  precious,  containing 
several  hundred  "  specimens." 

Here  is  "  Robin  Hood,"  and  Gray's  Botany, 
and  Percy's  "Reliques,"  and  a  set  of  George 
Eliot,  and  one  of  Charles  Kingsley,  and  the 
"  Ingoldsby  Legends,"  and  Aytoun's  "  Lays  of 
the  Scottish  Cavaliers,"  which  looks  as  if  it 
had  been  read  almost  to  pieces,  as  indeed  it 
has.  (There  is  a  mark  laid  in  at  the  "  Burial 
March  of  Dundee,"  which  Hildegarde  is  learn- 
ing by  heart.  This  young  woman  has  a 
habit  of  keeping  a  book  of  poetry  open  on 
her  dressing-table  when  she  is  doing  her  hair, 
and  learning  verses  while  she  brushes  out 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  67 

her  long  locks.  It  is  a  pleasant  habit,  though 
it  does  not  tend  to  accelerate  the  toilet.) 

On  the  next  shelf  is  "  Cranford,"  also  well 
thumbed,  and  everything  that  Mrs.  Ewing 
ever  wrote,  and  "  Betty  Leicester,"  and  Miss 
Yonge's  historical  stories,  and  the  "  Tales  of 
a  Grandfather,"  and  "  Lorna  Doone,"  and  the 
dear  old  "  Days  of  Bruce,"  and  "  Scottish 
Chiefs,"  side  by  side  with  the  "Last  of  the 
Barons,"  and  the  "  Queens  of  England,"  and  the 
beloved  Homer,  in  Derby's  noble  translation, 
also  in  brown  leather.  Here,  too,  is  "  Ses- 
ame and  Lilies,"  and  Carlyle  on  Hero- 
Worship. 

The  upper  shelf  is  entirely  devoted  to 
poetry,  and  here  are  Longfellow  and  Tenny- 
son, of  course,  and  Milton  (not  "of  course"), 
and  Scott  (in  tatters,  worse  off  than  Aytoun), 
and  Shelley  and  Keats,  and  the  Jacobite 
Ballads,  and  Allingham's  Ballad  Book,  and 
Mrs.  Browning,  and  "Sir  Launfal,"  and  the 


68  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  * 

"  Golden  Treasury,"  and  "  Children's  Gar- 
land." There  is  no  room  for  the  handy 
volume  Shakespeare,  so  he  and  his  box  must 
live  on  top  of  the  bookcase,  with  his  own 
bust  on  one  side  and  Beethoven's  on  the  other. 
These  are  flanked  in  turn  by  photographs 
of  Sir  Walter,  with  Maida  at  his  feet,  and 
Edwin  Booth  as  Hamlet,  both  in  those  pretty 
glass  frames  which  are  almost  as  good  as  no 
frame  at  all. 

"And  if  you  are  not  a  pleasant  sight," 
said  Hildegarde,  falling  back  to  survey  her 
work,  and  addressing  the  collection  compre- 
hensively, "  then  I  never  saw  one,  that's  all. 
Isrit  it  nice,  dear  persons?"  she  contin- 
ued, turning  to  the  portraits,  which  from 
their  places  over  the  mantel-piece  had  a  full 
view  of  the  bookcase. 

But  the  persons  expressed  no  opinion.  In- 
deed, I  am  not  sure  that  William  the  Silent 
could  read  English ;  and  Dundee's  knowledge 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  69 

of  literature  was  slight,  if  we  may  judge 
from  his  spelling.  I  should  not,  however, 
wish  Hildegarde  to  hear  me  say  this. 

Failing  to  elicit  a  response  from  her  two 
presiding  heroes,  our  maiden  turned  to  Sir 
Walter,  who  always  knew  just  how  things 
were ;  and  from  this  the  natural  step  was  to 
the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  "  (which  she 
had  not  read  so  very  lately,  she  thought, 
with  a  guilty  glance  at  the  trunk  and  box, 
which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  yawn- 
ing to  be  put  away),  and  there  was  an  end 
of  Hildegarde  till  dinner-time. 

"And  that  is  why  I  was  late,  dear  love ! " 
she  said,  as  after  a  hasty  explanation  of  the 
above  related  doings,  she  sank  down  in  her 
chair  at  the  dinner-table,  and  gave  a  furtive 
pat  to  her  hair,  which  she  had  smoothed 
rather  hurriedly.  "  You  know  you  would 
have  brained  me  with  the  hammer,  if  I  had 
not  put  it  away,  and  that  the  tacks  would 


70  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

have  been  served  up  on  toast  for  my  supper. 
Such  is  your  ferocious  disposition.'* 

Mrs.  Grahame  smiled  as  she  helped  Hilde- 
garde  to  soup.  "  Suppose  a  stranger  should 
pass  by  that  open  window  and  hear  your 
remarks,"  she  said.  "  A  pretty  idea  he 
would  have  of  my  maternal  care.  After  all, 
my  desire  is  to  keep  tacks  out  of  your  food. 
How  long  ago  was  it  that  I  found  a  button 
in  the  cup  of  tea  which  a  certain  young 
woman  of  my  acquaintance  brought  me  ? " 

"Ungenerous!  "  exclaimed  Hildegarde  with 
tragic  fervour.  "  It  was  only  a  glove-button. 
It  dropped  off  my  glove,  and  it  would  not 
have  disagreed  with  you  in  the  least.  I 
move  that  we  change  the  subject."  And  at 
that  moment  in  came  Janet  with  the  veal 
cutlets. 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  71 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  WALK   AND   AN   ADVENTURE. 

ONE  lovely  afternoon,  after  they  were  well' 
settled,  and  all  the  unpacking  was  done,  Hilde- 
garde  started  out  on  an  exploration  tour. 
She  and  her  mother  had  already  taken  one  or 
two  short  walks  along  the  road  near  which 
their  house  stood,  and  had  seen  the  brand-new 
towers  of  Mrs.  Loftus's  house,  "  pricking  a 
cockney  ear"  on  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
and  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  old  vine- 
covered  mansion,  standing  back  from  the 
road  and  almost  hidden  by  great  trees,  which 
her  mother  said  was  Colonel  Ferrer s's  house. 

But  now  Hildegarde  wanted  a  long  tramp ; 
she  wanted  to  explore   that  sunny  meadow 


72  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

that  lay  behind  the  green  garden,  and  the 
woods  that  fringed  the  meadow  again  beyond. 
So  she  put  on  a  short  corduroy  skirt,  that 
would  not  tear  when  it  caught  on  the  bushes, 
slung  a  tin  plant-box  over  her  shoulder,  kissed 
her  mother,  who  had  a  headache  and  could 
not  go,  and  started  off  in  high  spirits.  She 
was  singing  as  she  ran  down  the  stairs  and 
through  auntie's  sunny  back  yard,  and  the  mar- 
tial strains  of  "  Bonny  Dundee  "  rang  merrily 
through  the  clear  June  air ;  but  as  she  closed 
the  garden  door  behind  her,  the  song  died 
away,  for  "one  would  as  soon  sing  in  a 
churchyard,"  she  thought,  "  as  in  the  Ladies' 
Garden."  So  she  passed  silently  along  be- 
tween the  box  hedges,  her  footsteps  making 
no  sound  on  the  mossy  path,  only  the 
branches  rustling  softly  as  she  put  them  aside. 
The  afternoon  sun  sent  faint  gleams  of  pallid 
gold  down  through  the  branches  of  the  great 
elm ;  they  were  like  the  ghosts  of  sunbeams. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  73 

Her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  falling  water, 
which  she  had  not  noticed  before ;  she  turned 
a  corner,  and  lo !  there  was  a  dusky  ravine, 
and  a  little  dark  stream  falling  over  the 
rocks,  and  flowing  along  with  a  sullen  mur- 
mur between  banks  of  fe.rn.  It  was  part  of 
the  green  world.  The  mysterious  sadness  of 
the  deserted  garden  was  here,  too,  and  Hilde- 
garde  felt  her  glad  spirits  going  down,  down, 
as  if  an  actual  weight  were  pressing  on  her. 
But  she  shook  off  the  ^oppression.  "I  will 
not !"  she  said.  "I  will  not  be  enchanted 
to-day !  Another  day  I  will  come  and  sit 
here,  and  the  stream  will  tell  me  all  the 
mournful  story  ;  I  know  it  will  if  I  sit  long 
enough.  But  to-day  I  want  joy,  and  sun- 
shine, and  cheerful  things.  Good-by,  dear 
ladies!  I  hope  you  won't  mind!"  and  grasp- 
ing the  hanging  bough  of  a  neighbouring  elm, 
she  swung  herself  easily  down  into  the 
meadow. 


74  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  meadow.  The  grass 
was  long,  so  long  that  Hildegarde  felt  rather 
guilty  at  walking  through  it,  and  framed  a 
mental  apology  to  the  farmer  as  she  went 
along.  It  was  full  of  daisies  and  sorrel,  so  it 
was  not  his  best  mowing-field,  she  thought. 
She  plucked  a  daisy  and  pulled  off  the  petals 
to  see  whether  Rose  loved  her,  and  found  she 
did  not,  which  made  her  laugh  in  a  foolish, 
happy  way,  since  she  knew  better.  Now  she 
came  to  a  huge  sycamore-tree,  a  veritable 
giant,  all  scarred  with  white  patches  where 
the  bark  had  dropped  off.  Beside  it  lay 
another,  prostrate.  The  branches  had  been 
cut  off,  but  the  vast  trunk  showed  that  it  had 
been  even  taller  than  the  one  which  was  now 
standing.  "  Baucis  and  Philemon  !  "  said 
Hildegarde.  "  Poor  dears !  One  is  more 
sorry  for  the  one  who  is  left,  I  think,  than  for 
the  fallen  one.  To  see  him  lying  here  with 
his  head  off,  and  not  to  be  able  to  do  anything 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  75 

about  it !  She  cannot  even  '  tear  her  ling- 
long  yellow  hair'  —  only  it  is  green.  I  won- 
der who  killed  him."  And  she  went  on, 
murmuring  to  herself,  — 

"  They  shot  him  dead  on  the  Nine-Stane  Rigg, 

Beside  the  Headless  Cross. 
And  they  left  him  lying  in  his  blood 
Upon  the  moor  and  moss/7 

as  if  Barthram's  Dirge  had  anything  to  do 
with  the  story  of  Baucis  and  Philemon.  But 
this  young  woman's  head  was  very  full  of 
ballads  and  scraps  of  old  songs,  and  she  was 
apt  to  break  into  them  on  any  or  no  pretext. 
She  went  on  now  with  her  favourite  dirge, 
half  reciting,  half  chanting  it,  as  she  mounted 
the  sunny  slope  before  her. 

"  They  made  a  bier  of  the  broken  bough, 

The  sauch  and  the  aspen  grey, 
And  they  bore  him  to  the  Lady  Chapel 
And  waked  him  there  all  day. 


76  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"  A  lady  came  to  that  lonely  bower, 

And  threw  her  robes  aside. 
She  tore  her  ling-long  yellow  hair, 
And  knelt  at  Barthram's  side. 

"  She  bathed  him  in  the  Lady- Well, 

His  wounds  sae  deep  and  sair, 
And  she  plaited  a  garland  for  his  breast, 
And  a  garland  for  his  hair. 

"  They  rowed  him  in  a  lily-sheet 

And  bare  him  to  his  earth, 
And  the  grey  friars  sung  the  dead  man's  mass, 
As  they  passed  the  Chapel  Garth. 

"  They  buried  him  at  the  mirk  midnight, 

When  the  dew  fell  cold  and  still ; 
When  the  aspen  grey  forgot  to  play, 
And  the  mist  clung  to  the  hill. 

"  They  dug  his  grave  but  a  bare  foot  deep 

By  the  edge  of  the  Nine-Stane  Burn, 
And  they  covered  him  o'er  with  the  heather  flower, 
The  moss  and  the  lady  fern. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  77 

"  A  grey  friar  stayed  upon  the  grave 

And  sung  through  the  morning  tide. 
And  a  friar  shall  sing  for  Barthram's  soul 
While  Headless  Cross  shall  bide." 

Now  she  had  reached  the  fringe  of  trees  at 
the  top  of  the  slope,  and  found  that  it  was  the 
beginning  of  what  looked  like  a  considerable 
wood.  "  A  pine  wood  !  "  said  Hildegarde, 
sniffing  the  spicy  perfume  with  delight.  "  Oh, 
pleasant  place  !  No  plants,  but  one  cannot 
have  everything.  Oh!  how  good  it  smells  1 
and  hark  to  the  sound  of  the  sea  !  *  I  shall  call 
this  Ramoth  Hill."  She  walked  along,  keep- 
ing near  the  edge  of  the  wood,  where  it  was 
still  warm  and  luminous  with  sunshine.  Now 
she  looked  up  into  the  murmuring  cloud  of 
branches  above  her,  now  she  looked  down  at 
the  burnished  needles  which  made  a  soft, 
thick  carpet  under  her  feet ;  and  she  said 
again,  "  Oh,  pleasant  place  !  "  Presently,  in 
one  of  the  upward  glances,  she  stopped  short. 


78  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Her  look,  from  carelessly  wandering,  became 
keen  and  intent.  On  one  of  the  branches  of 
the  tree  under  which  she  stood  was  a  small, 
round  object.  "A  nest!"  said  Hildegarde. 
"  The  question  is,  What  nest  ?  "  She  walked 
round  and  round  the  tree,  like  a  pointer  who 
has  "  treed "  a  partridge ;  but  no  bird  rose 
from  the  nest,  nor  could  she  see  at  all  what 
manner  of  nest  it  was.  Finding  this  to  be 
the  case,  she  transferred  her  scrutiny  from  the 
nest  to  the  tree.  It  was  a  sturdy  pine,  with 
strong,  broad  branches  jutting  out,  the  low- 
est not  so  very  far  above  her  head,  a  most 
attractive  tree,  from  every  point  of  view. 
Hildegarde  leaned  against  the  trunk  for  a 
moment,  smiling  to  herself,  and  listening  to 
the  "  two  voices."  "  You  are  seventeen  years 
old,"  said  one  voice.  "  Not  quite,"  said  the 
other.  "  Not  for  a  month  yet.  Besides, 
what  if  I  were  ?  "  "  Suppose  some  one  should 
come  by  and  see  you  ?  "  said  the  first  voice. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  79 

"  But  no  one  will,"  replied  the  second. 
"And  perhaps  you  can't  do  it,  anyhow," 
continued  the  first ;  "  it  would  be  ridiculous 
to  try,  and  fail."  "  Just  wait  and  see  !  "  said 
the  second  voice.  And  when  it  had  said  that, 
Hildegarde  climbed  the  tree. 

I  shall  not  describe  exactly  how  she  did  it, 
for  it  may  not  have  been  in  the  most  approved 
style  of  the  art ;  but  she  got  up,  and  seated 
herself  on  the  broad,  spreading  branch,  not  so 
very  much  out  of  breath,  all  things  considered, 
and  with  only  two  scratches  worth  mention- 
ing. After  a  moment's  triumphant  repose,  she 
worked  her  way  upward  to  where  the  nest  was 
firmly  fixed  in  a  crotch,  and  bent  eagerly  over 
it.  A  kingbird's  nest !  this  was  great  joy,  for 
she  had  never  found  one  before.  There  were 
five  eggs  in  it,  and  she  gazed  with  delight  at 
the  perfect  little  things.  But  when  she  touched 
them  gently,  she  found  them  quite  cold.  The 
nest  was  deserted.  "  Bad  little  mother  !  " 


80  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

said  Hildegarde.  "  How  could  you  leave  the 
lovely  things  ?  Such  a  perfect  place  to  bring 
up  a  family  in,  too  !  "  She  looked  around 
her.  It  was  very  pleasant  up  in  this  airy 
bower.  Great  level  branches  stretched  above 
and  below  her,  roof  and  floor  of  soft,  dusky 
plumes.  The  keen,  exquisite  fragrance  seemed 
to  fold  round  her  like  a  cloud ;  she  felt  fairly 
steeped  in  warmth  and  perfume.  Sitting 
curled  up  on  the  great  bough,  her  back  rest- 
ing against  the  trunk,  the  girl  fell  into  a 
pleasant  waking  dream,  her  thoughts  wan- 
dering idly  here  and  there,  and  the  sound  of 
the  sea  in  her  ears.  She  was  an  enchanted 
princess,  shut  in  a  green  tower  by  the  sea. 
The  sea  loved  her,  and  sang  to  her  all  day 
long  the  softest  song  he  knew,  and  no  angry 
waves  ever  came  to  make  clamour  and  con- 
fusion. By  and  by  a  rescuer  would  come,  — 

"A  fairy  prince,  with  joyful  eyes, 
And  lighter-footed  than  the  fox." 


"IT    WAS    VERY    PLEASANT    UP    IN    ?HIS    AlKY    BOWER.' 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  88 

He  would  stand  beneath  the  green  tower,  and 
call  to  her :  — 

"  Hallo,  there !  you  young  rascal,  come 
down !  How  dare  you  rob  birds'  nests  in  my 
woods  ?  " 

The  voice  was  deep  and  stern,  and  Hilde- 
garde  started  so  violently  that  she  nearly  fell 
from  her  perch.  She  could  not  speak  for  the 
moment,  but  she  looked  down,  and  saw  a 
fierce-looking  old  gentleman,  clad  in  a  black 
velvet  coat  and  spotless  white  trousers,  bran- 
dishing a  thick  stick,  and  peering  with  angry, 
short-sighted  eyes  up  into  the  tree. 

"  Come  down,  I  say  !  "  he  repeated  sternly. 
"  I'll  teach  you  to  rob  my  nests,  you  young 
vagabond!  " 

This  was  really  not  to  be  endured. 

"  I  am  not  robbing  the  nest,  sir  !  "  cried 
Hildegarde,  indignation  overcoming  her  alarm. 
"  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my  life.  And  I 
—  I  am  not  a  boy  !  " 


84  HILDEGAKDE'S   HOME. 

"  Harry  Monmouth  !  "  exclaimed  the  old 
gentleman.  "  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons ! 
What  are  you?" 

Hildegarde's  first  impulse  was  to  say  that 
she  lived  in  Alaska  (that  being  the  most  dis- 
tant place  she  could  think  of),  and  was  on  her 
way  thither ;  but  fortunately  the  second 
thought  came  quickly,  and  she  replied  with 
as  much  dignity  as  the  situation  allowed  :  — 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Hugh  Gra- 
hame.  I  live  at  Braeside"  (I  have  forgot- 
ten to  mention  that  this  was  the  name  of 
the  new  home),  "  and  have  wandered  off  our 
own  grounds  without  knowing  it.  I  am  ex- 
tremely sorry  to  be  trespassing,  but  —  but  — 
I  only  wanted  to  see  what  kind  of  nest  it  was." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  feeling  that  there 
was  a  little  sob  somewhere  about  her,  and 
that  she  would  die  rather  than  let  it  get 
into  her  voice.  The  old  gentleman  took  off 
his  hat. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  85 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "the 
apologies  are  all  on  my  side.  Accept  ten 
thousand  of  them,  I  beg  of  you !  I  am 
delighted  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs. 
Grahame's  daughter,  under  —  a — any  cir- 
cumstances." (Here  he  evidently  suppressed 
a  chuckle,  and  Hildegarde  knew  it,  and  hated 
him.)  "  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself,  — 
Colonel  Ferrers. 

"I  have  been  annoyed  lately,"  he  added 
kindly,  "  by  thieving  boys,  and,  being  near- 
sighted, did  not  distinguish  between  a  per- 
secutor and  a  protector  of  my  birds."  He 
bowed  again.  "  And  now  I  will  continue  my 
walk,  merely  remarking  that  I  beg  you  to  con- 
sider yourself  entirely  free  of  my  grounds,  in 
any  and  every  part.  I  shall  do  myself  the 
honour  of  calling  on  your  mother  very  shortly. 
Good-morning,  my  dear  Miss  Grahame !  " 
and,  with  another  bow,  Colonel  Ferrers  re- 
placed his  felt  wide-awake,  and  strode  off 


86  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

across  the  meadow,  flourishing  his  stick,  and 
indulging  in  the  chuckle  which  he  had  so 
'long  suppressed. 

"  Harry  Mon mouth  ! "  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  switched  the  daisy-heads  off.  "  So  we 
have  a  fair  tomboy  for  a  neighbour.  Well,  it 
may  be  a  good  thing  for  Jack.  I  must  take 
him  over  and  introduce  him." 

Now  Hildegarde  was  not  in  the  least  a 
tomboy,  as  we  know ;  and  the  intuitive 
knowledge  that  the  old  gentleman  would 
think  her  one  made  her  very  angry  indeed. 
She  waited  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  then 
slid  down  the  tree,  without  a  second  glance 
at  the  kingbird's  nest,  the  innocent  cause  of 
all  the  trouble.  She  had  meant  to  take  one 
egg,  to  add  to  her  collection  ;  but  she  would 
not  touch  one  now,  if  there  were  a  thousand 
of  them.  She  ran  down  the  long  sunny 
slope  of  the  meadow,  her  cheeks  glowing, 
her  heart  still  beating  angrily.  She  was 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  87 

going  straight  home,  to  tell  her  mother  all 
about  it,  and  how  horrid  Colonel  Ferrers  had 
been,  and  how  she  should  never  come  down- 
stairs when  he  came  to  the  house  —  never  ! 
"  under  any  circumstances ! "  How  dared 
he  make  fun  of  her  ?  She  sat  down  on  the 
stone  wall  to  rest,  and  thought  how  her 
mother  would  hear  the  tale  with  sympathetic 
indignation.  But  somehow  —  how  was  it  ? 
—  when  she  conjured  up  her  mother's  face, 
there  was  a  twinkle  in  her  eye.  Mamma  had 
such  a  fatal  way  of  seeing  the  funny  side  of 
things.  Suppose  she  should  only  laugh  at  this 
dreadful  adventure  !  Perhaps  —  perhaps  it  was 
funny,  from  Colonel  Ferrers' s  point  of  view. 

In  short,  by  the  time  she  reached  home, 
Hildegarde  had  cooled  off  a  good  deal,  and 
it  was  a  modified  version  of  the  tragedy  that 
Mrs.  Grahame  heard.  She  found  this  quite 
funny  enough,  however,  and  Hildegarde  was 
almost,  but  not  quite,  ready  to  laugh  with  her. 


88  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

That  evening,  mother  and  daughter  were 
sitting  on  the  broad  verandah  as  usual,  play- 
ing Encyclopaedias.  This  was  a  game  of  Mrs. 
Grahame's  own  invention,  and  a  favourite 
resource  with  her  and  Hildegarde  in  darkling 
hours  like  this.  Perhaps  some  of  my  readers 
may  like  to  know  how  the  game  is  played, 
and,  as  the  Dodo  says  of  the  Caucus  Kace, 
"the  best  way  to  explain  it  is  to  play  it." 

They  began  with  the  letter  "  A,"  and  had 
already  been  playing  some  time,  turn  -and 
turn  about. 

"  Aphrodite,  goddess  of  Love  and  Beauty." 

"  Ahasuerus,  king  of  Persia,  B.C.  something 
or  other,  afflicted  with  sleeplessness." 

"Alfred  the  Great,  unsuccessful  tender  of 
cakes." 

"  ^Eneas,  pious  ;  from  the  flames  of  Troy 
did  on  his  back  the  old  Anchises  bear;  also 
deserted  Dido." 

"  Ananias,  liar." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  89 

"  Anacreon,  Greek  poet." 

"  Allan-a-dale,  minstrel  and  outlaw." 

"  Andromache,  wife  of  Hector." 

u  Astyanax,  son  of  the  same." 

"  Oh  —  don't  you  think  it's  time  to  go  on 
to  B  ?  "  asked  Hildegarde. 

"I  have  several  more  A's,"  replied  her 
mother. 

"Well,  my  initials  are  not  4  B.  U.,'  "  said 
the  girl,  "  but  perhaps  I  can  manage  one  or 
two  more." 

"  B.  U.  ? " 

"  Yes !  Biographic  Universelle,  of  course, 
dear.  Artaxerxes,  also  king  of  Persia." 

"  Anne  of  Geierstein." 

"Arabella  Stuart." 

"Ap  Morgan,  Ap  Griffith,  Ap  Hugh,  Ap 
Tudor,  Ap  Rice,  quoth  his  roundelay." 

"  Oh !  oh  !  that  was  one  of  my  reserves. 
Azrael,  the  angel  of  death." 

"  Agamemnon,  king  of  men." 


90  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"Alecto,  Fury." 

"  Agag,  who  came  walking  delicately." 

"  Addison,  Joseph,  writer." 

"  Antony,  Mark,  Roman  general,  lover  of 
Cleopatra." 

"'Amlet,  Prince  of  —  " 

"  Hilda !  "  cried  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  For 
shame !  It  is  certainly  high  time  to  go  on  to 
B,  if  you  are  going  to  behave  in  this  way, 
and  I  shall  put  e  d  after  it." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Hildegarde,  "I  will  be 
good.  It  isn't  nine  o'clock  yet,  I  know. 
Buccleugh,  Bold,  Duke  of,  Warden  here  o' 
the  Scottish  side.  I  was  determined  to  get 
him  first." 

"  Balaam,  prophet." 

"  Beatrice,  in  '  Much  Ado  about  Nothing.' ' 

"  Beatrix  Esmond." 

"  Bruce,  Robert,  King  of  Scotland." 

"  Burns,  Robert,  King  of  Scottish  poets." 

"  Oh  !  oh !  well,  I  suppose  he  is !  "    Hilda 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  91 

admitted  reluctantly.  But  Sir  Walter  makes 
an  admirable  viceroy.  I  think  —  who  is 
that  ?  Mamma,  there  is  some  one  coming  up 
the  steps." 

"Mrs.  Grahame?"  said  a  deep  voice,  as 
two  shadowy  forms  emerged  from  the  dark- 
ness. "I  am  delighted  to  meet  you  again. 
You  remember  Colonel  Ferrers  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame,  cordially, 
advancing  and  holding  out  her  hand.  "  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you,  Colonel  Ferrers, — though 
I  hardly  do  see  you  !  ".  she  added,  laughing. 
"  Hildegarde,  here  is  Colonel  Ferrers,  whom 
you  met  this  morning." 

"Good  evening!"  said  Hildegarde,  think- 
ing that  mamma  was  very  cruel. 

"  Delighted  !  "  said  Colonel  Ferrers,  bow- 
ing again  ;  and  he  added,  "  May  I  be  allowed 
to  present  my  nephew  ?  Mrs.  Grahame,  Miss 
Grahame,  my  nephew,  John  Ferrers." 

A  tall  figure  bowed  awkwardly,  and  a  voice 


92  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

murmured  something  which  might  have  been 
a  greeting  in  English,  Choctaw,  or  pure  Poly- 
nesian, as  it  was  wholly  unintelligible. 

"  It  is  too  pleasant  an  evening  to  spend  in 
the  house/'  said  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  I  think 
you  will  find  chairs,  gentlemen,  by  a  little 
judicious  groping.  Oh !  I  trust  you  are  not 
hurt,  Mr.  Ferrers?"  For  Mr.  Ferrers  had 
tumbled  over  his  chair,  and  was  now  sprawling 
at  full  length  on  the  piazza.  He  gathered 
himself  up  again,  apparently  too  much  abashed 
to  say  a  word. 

"  Oh  !  he's  all  right !  "  said  Colonel  Ferrers, 
laughing.  "  He's  always  tumbling  about ; 
just  got  his  growth,  you  see,  and  hasn't 
learned  what  to  do  with  it.  Well,  many 
things  have  happened  since  we  met,  Mrs. 
Grahame;  we  won't  say  how  many  years  it  is." 

"Many  things,  indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
hame with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  "  said  Colonel  Ferrers.     "  Poor 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  93 

Grahame  !  met  him  last  year  in  town  ;  never 
saw  him  looking  better.  Well,  so  it  goes. 
Changing  world,  my  dear  Madame  !  Poor 
Aytoun,  too !  I  miss  him  sadly.  My  only 
neighbour.  We  have  been  together  a  great 
deal  since  his  sisters  died.  Yes !  yes !  very 
glad  I  was  •to  hear  that  he  had  left  the  prop- 
erty to  you.  Not  another  soul  to  speak  to 
in  the  neighbourhood." 

"  Who  lives  in  the  large  new  house  across 
the  way?"  asked  Mrs.  Grahame.  "I  know 
the  name  of  the  family  is  Loftus,  but  nothing 


more." 


"Parcel  of  fools,  I  call  'em  !  "  said  Colonel 
Ferrers,  contemptuously.  "  New  people,  with 
money.  Loftus,  sharp  business  man,  wants 
to  be  a  gentleman  farmer.  As  much  idea  of 
farming  as  my  stick  has.  Wife  and  daugh- 
ters look  like  a  parcel  o'  fools.  Don't  know 
'em  !  don't  want  to  know  'em  !  "  Mrs.  Gra- 
hame, finding  this  not  an  agreeable  subject, 


94  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

turned  the  conversation  upon  old  friends,  and 
they  were  soon  deep  in  matters  of  twenty 
years  ago. 

Meanwhile  Hildegarde  and  the  bashful 
youth  had  sat  in  absolute  silence.  At  first 
Hildegarde  had  been  too  much  discomposed  by 
her  mother's  allusion  to  the  mornkig's  advent- 
ure to  speak,  though  she  was  able  to  see 
afterwards  how  much  better  it  was  to  bring 
up  the  matter  naturally,  and  then  dismiss  it 
as  a  thing  of  no  consequence,  as  it  was,  than 
to  let  it  hang,  an  unacknowledged  cloud,  in 
the  background. 

As  the  moments  went  on,  however,  she 
became  conscious  that  it  was  her  duty  to 
entertain  Mr.  Ferrers.  He  evidently  had  no 
idea  of  saying  anything ;  her  mother  and 
Colonel  Ferrers  had  forgotten  the  presence  of 
either  of  them,  apparently.  The  silence  be- 
came more  and  more  awkward.  What  could 
she  say  to  this  gawky  youth,  whose  face  she 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  95 

could  not  even  see  ?  "  What  a  lovely  day  it 
has  been !  "  she  finally  remarked,  and  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  her  own  voice, 
though  she  was  not  usually  shy  in  the  least. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Ferrers,  "  it  has  been  a 
fine  day." 

Silence  again.  This  would  never  do !  "Do 
you  play  tennis?"  she  asked  boldly. 

"  No  —  not  much  !  '  was  the  reply. 
"  Doesn't  pay,  in  hot  weather." 

This  was  not  encouraging,  but  Hildegarde 
was  fairly  roused  by  this  time,  and  had  no 
idea  of  being  beaten.  "  What  do  you  do  ?  " 
she  said. 

Mr.  Ferrers  was  silent,  as  if  considering. 

"Oh-- 1  don't  know!"  he  said  finally. 
"  Nothing  much.  Poke  about !  "  Then,  after 
a  pause,  he  added  in  explanation,  "  I  don't 
live  here.  I  only  came  a  few  days  ago.  I 
am  to  spend  the  summer  with  my  uncle." 
Apparently  this  effort  was  too  much  for  him, 


96  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

for  he  relapsed  into  silence,  and  Hildegarde 
could  get  nothing  more  save  "  Yes  ! "  and 
u  No  !  "  out  of  him.  But  now  Colonel  Ferrers 
came  to  the  rescue. 

"  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Grahame,"  he  said,  "  I- 
think  this  boy  must  be  a  Delation  of  yours,  a 
Scotch  cousin  at  least.  His  mother  was  a 
Grahame,  daughter  of  Robert  Grahame  of  Bal- 
timore. His  own  name  is  John  Grahame 
Ferrers." 

"Is  it  possible?"  cried  Mrs.  Grahame, 
greatly  surprised.  "  If  that  is  the  case,  he  is 
much  more  than  a  Scotch  cousin.  Why, 
Robert  Grahame  was  my  dear  husband's  first 
cousin.  Their  fathers  were  brothers.  Hugh 
often  spoke  of  his  cousin  Robert,  and  regretted 
that  they  never  met,  as  they  were  great  friends 
in  their  boyhood.  And  this  is  his  son !  is  it 
possible  ?  My  dear  boy,  I  must  shake  hands 
with  you  again.  You  are  a  boy,  aren't  you, 
though  you  are  so  big  ?  " 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  97 

"  To  be  sure  he  is  a  boy !  "  said  Colonel 
Ferrers,  who  was  highly  delighted  with  his 
discovery  of  a  relationship.  "Just  eighteen 
—  a  mere  snip  of  a  boy !  Going  to  college 
in  the  autumn." 

"  Hildegarde,"  continued  Mrs.  Grahame, 
"  shake  hands  with  your  cousin  John,  and 
tell  him  how  glad  you  are  to  find  him." 

Hildegarde  held  out  her  hand,  and  John 
Ferrers  tried  to  find  it,  but  found  a  hanging- 
basket  instead,  and  knocked  it  over,  sending 
a  shower  of  damp  earth  over  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  party. 

"  I  must  take  him  home,"  exclaimed  Colonel 
Ferrers,  in  mock  despair,  "  or  he  will  destroy 
the  whole  house.  Miss  Hildegarde,"  he  added, 
in  a  very  kind  voice,  "you  probably  thought 
me  an  ogre  this  morning.  I  am  generally 
regarded  as  such.  Fact  is,  you  frightened 
me  more  than  I  frightened  you.  We  are  not 
used  to  seeing  young  ladies  here  who  know 


98  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

how  to  climb  trees.  Harry  Monmouth  !  Wish 
I  could  climb  'em  myself  as  I  used.  Best  fun 
in  the  world !  Come,  Jack,  I  must  get  you 
home  before  you  do  any  more  mischief.  Good- 
night, Mrs.  Grahame  !  I  trust  we  shall  meet 
often ! " 

"  I  trust  so,  indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame 
heartily.  "  We  shall  count  upon  your  being 
neighbourly,  in  the  good  old  country  sense ; 
and  as  for  John,  he  must  do  a  cousin's  duty 
by  us,  and  shall  in  return  receive  the  freedom 
of  the  house." 

"  Hum  mum  mum !  "  said  John ;  at  least, 
that  is  what  it  sounded  like ;  on  which  his 
uncle  seized  him  by  the  arm  impatiently,  and 
walked  him  off. 

"  Well,  Mammina !  "  said  Hildegarde,  when 
the  visitors  were  well  out  of  hearing. 

"  Well,  dear  !  "  replied  her  mother  placidly. 
"  What  a  pleasant  visit !  The  poor  lad  is 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  99 

very  shy,  isn't  he  ?  Could  you  make  anything 
out  of  him?" 

"  Why,  Mammina,  he  is  a  perfect  goose  !  " 
exclaimed  Hildegarde,  warmly.  "  /  don't 
think  it  was  a  pleasant  visit  at  all.  As  to 
making  anything  out  of  that  - 

"  Fair  and  softly !  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame 
quietly.  "  In  the  first  place,  we  will  not  criti- 
cise the  guests  who  have  just  left  us,  because 
that  is  not  pretty-behaved,  as  auntie  would 
say.  And  in  the  second  place  —  your  dear 
father  was  just  eighteen  when  I  first  met  him, 
Hildegarde ;  and  he  put  his  foot  through  the 
flounce  of  my  gown,  upset  strawberries  and 
cream  into  my  lap,  and  sat  down  on  my  new 
ivory  fan,  all  at  one  tea-party." 

"  Good-night,  dear  mamma  !  "  said  Hilde- 
garde meekly. 

"  Good-night,  my  darling !  and  don't  forget 
that  barn-door  rent  in  your  corduroy  skirt, 
when  you  get  up  in  the  morning." 


100  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 


CHAPTER  V. 

UNCLE   AND    NEPHEW. 

COLONEL  FERRERS  and  his  nephew  walked 
away  together,  the  former  with  a  quick,  mili- 
tary stride,  the  latter  shambling,  as  lads  do 
whose  legs  have  outgrown  their  understand- 
ing of  them. 

"  Don't  hunch,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  Colonel, 
throwing  his  broad  shoulders  back  and  his 
chin  to  the  position  of  "eyes  front."  "Put 
your  chin  in  and  your  chest  out,  and  don't 
hunch!  You  have  about  as  much  carriage, 
my  nephew  Jack,  as  a  rheumatic  camel. 
Well!"  (as  poor  Jack  straightened  his  awk- 
ward length  and  tried  to  govern  his  prancing 
legs).  "  So  Mrs.  Grahame  is  a  connection, 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  101 

after  all;  and  a  very  charming  woman,  too. 
And  how  did  you  find  the  young  lady,  sir? 
Did  she  give  you  any  points  on  tree-climb- 
ing ?  Ho  !  ho !  I  was  wrong,  though,  about 
her  being  a  tomboy.  She  hasn't  the  voice  of 
one.  Did  you  notice  her  voice,  nephew?  it  is 
very  sweet  and  melodious.  It  reminded  me 
of  —  of  a  voice  I  remember." 

"I  like  her  voice!"  replied  Jack  Ferrers. 
By  the  way,  his  own  voice  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant one,  a  well-bred  and  good-tempered  voice. 
"  I  couldn't  see  her  face  very  well.  I  can't 
talk  to  girls!"  he  added.  "I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  them.  Why  did  you  tell  them 
about  mother,  Uncle  Tom  ?  There  was  no 
need  of  their  knowing." 

"  Why  did  I  tell  them  ?  "  exclaimed  Colonel 
Ferrers.  "  Harry  Monmouth  !  I  told  them, 
you  young  noodle,  because  I  chose  to  tell 
them,  and  because  it  was  the  truth,  and  a 
mighty  lucky  thing  for  you,  too.  What  with 


102  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

your  poor  mother's  dying  young,  and  your 
father's  astonishing  and  supernatural  wrong- 
headedness,  you  have  had  no  bringing  up 
whatever,  my  poor  fellow !  Talk  of  your 
going  to  college  next  year !  why,  you  don't 
know  how  to  make  a  bow.  I  present  you  to 
two  charming  women,  and  you  double  your- 
self up  as  if  you  had  been  run  through  the 
body,  and  then  stumble  over  your  own  legs 
and  tumble  over  everything  else.  Shade  of 
Chesterfield  !  How  am  I  to  take  you  about, 
if  this  is  the  way  you  behave  ? " 

"It  was  dark,"  said  poor  Jack.  "And  — 
and  I  don't  want  to  be  taken  about,  uncle, 
thank  you.  Can't  I  just  keep  quiet  while  I 
am  here,  and  not  see  people  ?  I  don't  know 

how  to  talk,  really  I  don't." 

* 

"Pooh!  pooh!  sir,"  roared  the  Colonel, 
smiting  the  earth  with  his  stick.  "  Have  the 
goodness  to  hold  your  tongue  !  You  know 
how  to  talk  nonsense,  and  I  request  you'll 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  '  103 

not  do  it  to  me.  You  are  my  brother's  son, 
sir,  and  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  teach 
you  to  walk,  and  to  talk,  and  to  behave  like 
a  rational  Christian,  while  you  are  under  my 
roof.  If  your  father  had  the  smallest  atom 
of  common  sense  in  his  composition  —  " 

"  Please  don't  say  anything  against  father, 
Uncle  Tom,"  cried  the  lad.  "  I  can't  stand 
that ! "  and  one  felt  in  the  dark  the  fiery 
flush  that  made  his  cheeks  tingle. 

"  Upon  my  soul !  "  cried  Colonel  Ferrers 
(who  did  not  seem  in  the  least  angry),  "you 
are  the  most  astounding  young  rascal  it  has 
ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet.  Are 
you  aware,  sir,  that  your  father  is  my  brother  ? 
that  I  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Ray- 
mond Ferrers  when  he  was  one  hour  old, 
a  squeaking  little  scarlet  wretch  in  a  flannel 
blanket  ?  Are  you  aware  of  this,  pray  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  am,"  answered  the  lad. 
"  But  that  doesn't  make  any  difference.  No- 


104  '  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

body  must  say  anything  against  him,  even  if 
it  is  his  own  brother." 

"  Who  is  saying  anything  against  him  ? " 
demanded  Colonel  Ferrers,  fiercely.  "  He  is 
an  angel,  sir;  every  idiot  knows  that.  A 
combination  of  angel  and  infant,  Raymond 
Ferrers  is,  and  always  has  been.  But  the 
combination  does  not  qualify  him  for  bring- 
ing up  children.  Probatum  est !  Here  we 
are !  Now  let  me  see  if  you  can  open  the 
gate  without  fumbling,  sir.  If  there  is  one 
thing  I  cannot  endure,  it  is  fumbling." 

Thus  adjured,  Jack  Ferrers  opened  the 
heavy  wooden  gate,  and  the  two  passed 
through  a  garden  which  seemed,  from  the 
fragrance,  to  be  full  of  roses.  The  old  house 
frowned  dark  and  gloomy,  with  only  one 
light  twinkling  feebly  in  a  lower  window. 
When  they  had  entered,  and  were  standing  in 
the  pleasant  library,  book-lined  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  Colonel  Ferrers  turned  suddenly  to 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  105 

his  nephew,  who  was  in  a  brown  study,  and 
dealt  him  a  blow  on  the  shoulder  which  sent 
him  staggering  half-way  across  the  room,  un- 
expected as  it  was. 

"  You're  right  to  stand  up  for  your  father, 
my  lad,"  he  said,  with  gruff  heartiness.  "  It 
was  unnecessary  in  this  case,  for  I  would  be 
cut  into  inch  pieces  and  served  up  011  toast  if 
it  would  do  my  brother  Raymond  any  good ; 
but  you  are  right  all  the  same.  If  anybody 
else  ever  says  he  hasn't  common  sense,  knock 
him  down,  do  you  hear  ?  A  blow  from  the 
shoulder,  sir  !  that's  the  proper  answer." 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  8aid  the  boy  demurely  ;  but 
he  looked  up  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  It's 
lucky  for  me  that  I  dorit  have  to  knock 
you  down,  sir,"  he  added.  "  You're  awfully 
strong,  aren't  you  ?  I  wish  I  were  ! " 

"  You,  sir  !  "  rejoined  the  Colonel.  "  You 
have  the  frame  of  an  ox,  if  you  had  any  flesh 
to  cover  it.  Exercise  is  what  you  need, 


106  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Nephew  Jack !  Fencing  is  what  you  want, 
sir  !  Take  that  walking-stick  !  Harry  Mon- 
mouth !  I'll  give  you  a  lesson,  now.  On 
guard  !  So !  defend  yourself  !  Ha !  humph ! " 
The  last  exclamation  was  one  of  disgust,  for. 
at  the  Colonel's  first  thrust,  Jack's  stick  flew 
out  of  his  hand,  and  knocked  over  a  porcelain 
vase,  shattering  it  in  pieces,  Jack,  mean- 
while, standing  rubbing  his  arm  and  looking 
very  foolish. 

"  Humph  !  "  repeated  Colonel  Ferrers,  look- 
ing rather  disconcerted  himself,  and  all  the 
more  fierce  therefore.  "  That  comes  of  trying 
to  instruct  a  person  who  has  not  been  taught 
to  hold  himself  together.  You  are  a  milksop, 
my  poor  fellow !  a  sad  milksop !  but  we  are 
going  to  change  all  that.  There  !  never  mind 
about  the  pieces.  Giuseppe  will  pick  up  the 
pieces.  Get  your  supper,  and  then  go  to  bed." 

"  I  don't  care  about  supper,  thank  you, 
uncle/'  said  the  lad. 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  107 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  don't  talk  nonsense  !  "  cried 
the  Colonel.  "  You  don't  go  to  bed  without 
supper." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room,  a 
long,  low  room,  panelled  with  dark  oak. 
Walls,  table,  sideboard,  shone  like  mirrors, 
with  the  polish  of  many  years.  Over  the 
sideboard  was  the  head  of  a  gigantic  moose, 
with  huge,  spreading  antlers.  On  the  side- 
board itself  were  some  beautiful  pieces  of  old 
silver,  shining  with  the  peculiar  blue  lustre 
that  comes  from  long  rubbing,  and  from  that 
alone.  A  tray  stood  on  the  table,  and  on  it 
was  a  pitcher  of  milk,  two  glasses,  and  a  plate 
of  very  attractive-looking  little  cakes.  The 
colonel  filled  Jack's  glass,  and  stood  by  with 
grim  determination  till  he  had  drunk  every 
drop. 

"Now,  a  cake,  sir,"  he  added,  sipping  his 
own  glass  leisurely.  "A  plummy  cake,  of 
Mrs.  Beadle's  best  make.  Down  with  it,  I 


108  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

insist ! "  In  the  matter  of  the  plum  cake, 
little  insistence  was  necessary,  and  between 
uncle  and  nephew  both  plate  and  pitcher  were 
soon  empty. 

"  There,"  said  the  good  Colonel,  as  they 
returned  to  the  library,  "  now  you  have  some- 
thing to  sleep  on,  my  friend.  No  empty 
stomachs  in  this  house,  to  distract  people's 
brains  and  make  mooncalves  of  them.  Ten 
minutes'  exercise  with  the  Indian  clubs  — 
you  have  them  in  your  room  ?  —  and  then  to 
bed.  Hand  me  the  '  Worthies  of  England,' 
will  you  ?  Bookcase  on  the  right  of  the  door, 
third  shelf  from  the  bottom,  fifth  book  from 
the  left.  Thomas  Fuller.  Yes,  thank  you. 
Good-night,  my  boy !  don't  forget  the  clubs, 
and  don  t  poke  your  head  forward  like  a  ritu- 
alist parson,  because  you  are  not  otherwise 
cut  out  for  one." 

Leaving  his  uncle  comfortably  established 
with  his  book  and  reading-lamp,  Jack  Ferrers 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  109 

took  his  way  upstairs.  It  was  not  late,  but 
he  had  already  found  out  that  his  uncle  had 
nothing  to  say  to  him  or  any  one  else  after 
the  frugal  nine  o'clock  supper,  and  his  own 
taste  for  solitude  prompted  him  to  seek  his 
room.  As  he  passed  along  a  dark  corridor,  a 
gleam  of  light  shot  out  from  a  half -open 
door. 

"  Are  you  awake,  Biddy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  dear  !  "  answered  a  kind,  hearty 
voice.  "  Come  in,  Master  Jack,  if  you've  a 
mind." 

The  room  was  so  bright  that  Jack  screwed 
up  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  The  lamp  was 
bright,  the  carpet  was  bright,  the  curtains 
almost  danced  on  the  wall  from  their  own 
gayety,  while  the  coloured  prints,  in  shining 
gilt  frames,  sang  the  whole  gamut^of  colour 
up  and  down  and  round  and  round.  But 
brighter  than  all  else  in  the  gay  little  room 
was  the  gay  little  woman  who  sat  by  the 


*      110  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

round  table  (which  answered  every  purpose 
of  a  mirror),  piecing  a  rainbow-coloured  quilt. 
Her  face  was  as  round  and  rosy  as  a  Graven- 
stein  apple.  She  had  bright  yellow  ribbons 
in  her  lace  cap,  and  her  gown  was  of  the 
most  wonderful  merino  that  ever  was  seen, 
with  palm-leaves  three  inches  long  curling  on 
a  crimson  ground. 

"How  very  bright  you  are  in  here,  Biddy! " 
said  Jack,  sitting  down  on  the  floor,  with  his 
long  legs  curled  under  him.  "  You  positively 
make  my  eyes  ache." 

"It's  cheerful,  dear,"  replied  the  good 
housekeeper.  "  I  like  to  see  things  cheerful, 
that  I  do.  Will  you  have  a  drop  of  shrub, 
Master  Jack  ?  there's  some  in  the  cupboard 
there,  and  'twill  warm  you  up,  like,  before 
going  to  bed." 

Then,  as  Jack  declined  the  shrub  with 
thanks,  she  continued,  "And  so  you  have 
been  to  call  on  the  ladies  at  Braeside,  you  and 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  Ill 

the  Colonel.  Ah !  and  very  sweet  ladies,  I'm 
told." 

"  Very  likely  !  "  said  Jack  absently.  "  Do 
you  mind  if  I  pull  the  cat's  tail,  Biddy  ?  " 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  a  superb 
yellow  Angora  cat  which  lay  curled  up  on  a 
scarlet  cushion,  fast  asleep. 

"  Oh !  my  dear !  "  cried  Mrs.  Beadle. 
"Don't  you  do  it!  He's  old,  and  his  temper 
not  what  it  was.  Poor  old  Sunshine !  and 
why  would  you  pull  his  tail,  you  naughty 
boy?" 

"  Oh  !  well  —  no  matter  !  "  said  Jack. 
"There's  a  fugue  —  that's  a  piece  of  music, 
Biddy  —  that  I  am  practising,  called  the  •<  Cat's 
Fugue,'  and  T  thought  I  would  see  if  it  really 
sounded  like  a  cat,  that's  all." 

"Indeed,  that's  not  such  music  as  I  should 
like  your  uncle  to  hear ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Beadle.  "  And  what  did  you  say  to  the 
young  lady,  Master  Jack?"  she  added,  as 


112  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

she  placed  a  scarlet  block  against  a  purple 
one.  "  I'm  glad  enough  you've  found  some 
young  company,  to  make  you  gay,  like. 
You're  too  quiet  for  a  young  lad,  that  you 


are." 


"  Oh,  bother  !  "  responded  Jack,  shaking  his 
shoulders.  "  Tell  me  about  my  father,  Biddy. 
I  don't  believe  he  liked  g —  company,  any 
better  than  I  do.  What  was  he  like  when  he 
was  a  boy  ?  " 

"An  angel!"  said  Mrs.  Beadle  fervently. 
"An  angel  with  his  head  in  his  pocket;  that 
is  what  Mr.  Raymond  was  like." 

"  Uncle  Tom  called  him  an  angel,  too ! " 
said  the  lad.  "  Of  course  he  is ;  a  combina- 
tion of  angel  and  —  why  did  you  say  'with 
his  head  in  his  pocket,'  Biddy  ?  " 

"Well,  dear,  it  wasn't  on  his  shoulders," 
replied  the  housekeeper.  "  He  was  in  a 
dream,  like,  all  the  time ;  oh,  much  worse 
than  you  are  yourself,  Master  Jack/' 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  113 

"  Thank  you  !  "  muttered  Jack. 

"  And  forgetful !  well !  well !  he  needed  to 
be  tied  to  some  one,  Mr.  Raymond  did.  To 
see  him  come  in  for  his  luncheon,  and  then 
forget  all  about  it,  and  stand  with  a  book  in 
his  hand,  reading  as  if  there  was  nothing  else 
in  the  world.  And  then  Mr.  Tom  —  dear! 
dear !  would  put  his  head  down  and  run  and 
butt  him  right  in  the  stomach,  and  down  they 
would  go  together  and  roll  over  and  over ; 
great  big  lads,  like  you,  sir,  and  their  father 
would  take  the  dog- whip  and  thrash  'em  till 
they  got  up.  'Twas  all  in  sport  like,  d'ye  see ; 
but  Mr.  Raymond  never  let  go  his  book,  only 
beat  Mr.  Tom  with  it.  Dear !  dear !  such 
lads ! " 

"Tell  me  about  his  running  away,"  said 
Jack. 

"After  the  fiddler,  do  you  mean,  dear? 
That  was  when  he  was  a  little  lad.  Always 
mad  after  music  he  was,  and  playing  on  any- 


114  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

thing  he  could  get  hold  of,  and  singing  like  a 
serup,  that  boy.  So  one  day  there  came 
along  an  Italian,  with  a  fiddle  that  he  played 
on,  and  a  little  boy  along  with  him,  that  had 
a  fiddle,  too.  Well,  and  if  Mr.  Raymond 
didn't  persuade  that  boy  to  change  clothes 
with  him,  and  he  to  stay  here  and  Mr.  Ray- 
mond to  go  with  the  fiddler  and  learn  to 
play.  Of  course  the  man  was  a  scamp,  and 
had  no  business ;  and  Mr.  Raymond  gave 
him  his  gold  piece  to  take  him,  and  all !  But 
when  the  old  Squire  —  that's  your  grandfather, 
dear  ! — when  he  came  in  and  found  that  little 
black-eyed  fellow  dressed  in  his  son's  clothes, 
and  crying  with  fright,  and  not  a  word  of 
English  —  well,  he  was  neither  to  hold  nor 
to  bind,  as  the  saying  is.  Luckily  Mrs.  Fer- 
rers —  that's  your  grandmother,  dear !  she 
came  in  before  the  child  was  frightened  into 
a  fit,  though  very  near  it ;  and  she  spoke  the 
language,  and  with  her  quiet  ways  she  got 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  115 

the  child  quiet,  and  he  told  her  all  about  it, 
and  how  the  fiddler  beat  him,  and  showed 
the  great  bruises.  And  when  she  told  the 
Squire,  he  got  black  in  the  face,  like  he  used, 
and  took  his  dog-whip  and  rode  off  on  his  big 
grey  horse  like  mad  ;  and  when  he  came  back 
with  Mr.  Raymond  in  front  of  him,  the  whip 
was  all  in  pieces,  and  Mr.  Raymond  crying 
and  holding  the  little  fiddle  tight.  And  the 
Italian  boy  stayed,  and  the  Squire  made  a 
man  of  him,  from  being  a  Papist  outlandish- 
man.  And  that's  all  the  story,  Master  Jack." 

"And  he  is  Giuseppe  ?"  asked  Jack.  . 

"  And  he  is  Jew  Seppy,"  Mrs.  Beadle 
assented.  "  Though  it  seems  a  hard  name 
to  give  him,  and  no  Jew  blood  in  him  that 
any  one  can  prove,  only  his  eyes  being  black. 
But  he  won't  hear  to  its  being  shortened. 
And  now  it  is  getting  to  be  night-cap  time, 
Master  Jack,"  said  the  good  woman,  begin- 
ning to  fold  up  her  work,  "and  I  hope  you 


116  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

are  going  to  bed,  too,  like  a  good  young  gen- 
tleman. But  if  you  don't,  you'll  shut  the 
door  careful,  won't  you  dear  ?  " 

"  Never  fear,"  said  the  boy,  gathering 
himself  up  from  the  floor.  "  I'm  sleepy  to- 
night, anyhow  ;  I  may  go  straight  to  bed. 
Good-night,  Biddy.  You're  quite  sure  you 
like  me  to  call  you  '  Biddy  '  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  it  makes  me  feel  five-and-twenty 
years  younger!"  said  the  good  woman;  "and 
I  seem  to  see  your  dear  father,  coming  in 
with  his  curls  a-shaking,  calling  his  Biddy. 
Ah,  well !  Good-night,  Master  Jack,  dear ! 
Don't  forget  to  look  in  when  you  go  by." 

"Good-night,  Biddy!" 

The  lad  went  off  with  his  candle,  fairly 
stumbling  along  the  corridor  from  sheer 
sleepiness ;  but  when  he  reached  his  own 
room,  which  was  flooded  with  moonlight,  the 
drowsiness  seemed  to  take  wings  and  disap- 
pear. He  sat  down  by  the  open  window  and 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  117 

looked  out.  Below  lay  the  garden,  all  black 
and  silver  in  the  intense  white  light.  The 
smell  of  the  roses  came  up  to  him,  exquisitely 
sweet.  He  leaned  his  head  against  the  win- 
dow-frame, and  felt  as  if  he  were  floating 
away  on  the  buoyant  fragrance  —  far,  far 
away,  to  the  South,  where  his  home  was,  and 
where  the  roses  were  in  bloom  so  long  that 
it  seemed  as  if  there  were  always  roses. 

The  silver-lit  garden  vanished  from  his 
sight,  and  he  saw  instead  a  long,  low  room, 
half  garret,  half  workshop,  where  a  man 
stood  beside  a  long  table,  busily  at  work  with 
some  fine  tools.  The  spare,  stooping  figure, 
the  long,  delicate  hands,  the  features  carved 
as  if  in  ivory,  the  blue,  near-sighted 
eyes  peering  anxiously  at  the  work  in  his 
hands,  —  all  these  were  as  actually  present  to 
the  boy  as  if  he  could  put  out  his  own  hand 
and  touch  them.  It  was  with  a  start  that  he 
came  back  to  the  world  of  tangible  surround- 


118  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

ings,  as  a  sudden  breath  of  wind  waved  the 
trees  below  him,  and  sent  whisperings  of  leaf 
and  blossom  through  his  room. 

"Daddy!"  he  said  half  to  himself;  and 
he  brushed  away  something  which  had  no 
possible  place  in  the  eyes  of  a  youth  who  was 
to  go  to  college  next  year.  Giving  himself 
a  violent  shake,  Jack  Ferrers  rose,  and,  going 
to  a  cupboard,  took  out  with  great  care  a 
long,  black,  oblong  box.  This  he  deposited 
on  the  bed ;  then  took  off  his  boots  and  put 
on  a  pair  of  soft  felt  slippers.  His  coat,  too, 
was  taken  off  ;  and  then,  holding  the  black 
box  in  his  arms,  as  if  it  were  a  particularly 
delicate  baby,  he  left  the  room,  and  softly 
made  his  way  to  the  stairs  which  led  to  the 
attic.  There  was  a  door  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  which  he  opened  noiselessly,  and  then 
he  stopped  to  listen.  All  was  still.  He 
must  have  been  sitting  for  some  time  at  the 
window,  for  the,  light  in  the  hall  was  extin- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  119 

guished,  which  was  a  sign  that  his  uncle  had 
gone  to  bed.  In  fact,  as  he  listened  intently, 
his  ear  caught  a  faint,  rhythmic  sound,  rising 
and  falling  at  regular  intervals,  like  the  dis- 
tant murmur  of  surf  on  the  sea-shore;  his 
uncle  was  asleep.  Closing  the  door  softly 
after  him,  and  clasping  the  black  box  firmly, 
Jack  climbed  the  attic  stairs  and  disappeared 
in  the  darkness. 


120  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

COUSIN    JACK. 

THE  next  day,  as  Hildegarde  was  arrang- 
ing flowers  on  the  piazza,  with  a  table  before 
her  covered  with  bowls  and  vases,  and  a 
great  basket  of  many-coloured  blossoms  beside 
her,  Jack  Ferrers  appeared,  evidently  in  the 
depths  of  misery,  carrying  a  huge  bunch  of 
roses.  He  stumbled  while  coming  up  the 
steps,  and  dropped  half  the  roses,  which  in- 
creased his  discomfort  so  much  that  Hilde- 
garde was  really  sorry  for  him.  Moreover, 
when  seen  by  daylight,  he  was  a  very  pleasant- 
looking  fellow,  with  curly  brown  hair  and 
great  honest  blue  eyes  very  wide  open.  He 
was  over  six  feet  tall,  and  as  awkward  as  a 


MACK  FERRERS  APPEARED  CARRYING  A  HUGE  BUNCH  OF  ROSES. 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  123 

human  being  could  be,  but  of  course  lie  could 
not  help  that. 

"  Good-morning,  Cousin  Jack !  "  said  Hilde- 
garde  pleasantly.  "  What  lovely  roses !  Are 
they  from  Colonel  Ferrers' s  garden?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jack  Ferrers.  "  Uncle  sends 
them  with  his  compliments.  I'm  sorry  I 
knocked  over  the  basket  last  night.  Good-by." 

He  was  about  to  fling  himself  down  the 
steps  again,  but  Hildegarde,  controlling  her 
desire  to  laugh,  said  cordially  :  "  Oh,  don't  go ! 
Sit  down  a  moment,  and  tell  me  the  names 
of  some  of  these  beauties." 

"  Thank  you ! "  muttered  the  youth,  blush- 
ing redder  than  the  roses.  "I  —  I  think  I 
must  go  back." 

"Are  you  so  very  busy  ? "  asked  Hilde- 
garde innocently.  "  I  thought  this  was  your 
vacation.  What  have  you  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  nothing!  "  said  the  lad  awkwardly. 
"  Nothing  in  particular." 


124  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Then  sit  down,"  said  Hildegarde  decidedly. 

And  Jack  Ferrers  sat  down.  A  pause  fol- 
lowed. Then  Hildegarde  said  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  tone,  "  You  have  no  sisters,  have  you, 
Cousin  Jack  ?  " 

"No,"  was  the  reply.  "How  did  you 
know  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  so  shy,"  said  Hildegarde, 
smiling.  "  Boys  who  have  no  sisters  are 
apt  to  regard  girls  as  a  kind  of  griffin. 
There  used  to  be  a  boy  at  dancing-school, 
two  or  three  years  ago,  who  was  so  shy  it 
was  really  painful  to  dance  with  him  at  first, 
but  he  got  over  it  after  a  while.  And  it  was 
all  because  he  had  no  sisters." 

"  Did  you  like  dancing-school  ?  "  Jack  in- 
quired, venturing  to  look  up  at  her  shyly. 

"  Yes,  very  much  indeed ! "  replied  Hilde- 
garde. "Didn't  you?" 

"  No  ;  hated  it." 

Then  they  both  laughed  a  little,  and  after 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  125 

that  things  went  a  good  deal  better.  Jack 
came  up  on  the  piazza  (he  had  been  sitting 
on  the  steps,  shuffling  his  feet  in  a  most  dis- 
tressing manner),  and  helped  to  clip  the 
long  steins  of  the  roses,  and  pulled  off  super- 
fluous leaves.  It  appeared  that  he  did  not 
care  much  for  flowers,  though  he  admitted 
that  roses  were  "  pretty."  He  did  not  care 
for  fishing  or  shooting ;  tennis  had  made  his 
head  ache  ever  since  he  began  to  grow  so 
fast.  Did  he  like  walking  ?  Pretty  well, 
when  it  wasn't  too  hot.  Reading?  Well 
enough,  when  the  book  wasn't  stupid. 

"  Wot  are  we  to  do  with  this  'ere  'opeless 
chap?"  said  Hildegarde  to  herself,  quoting 
from  "  Pinafore." 

As  a  last  resort  she  asked  if  he  were  fond 
of  music.  Instantly  his  face  lighted  up. 

"Awfully  fond  of  it,"  he  said  with  anima- 
'tion,  and  the  embarrassed  wrinkle  disappeared 
as  if  by  magic  from  between  his  eyebrows. 


126  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!"  cried  Hildegarde. 
"  I  haven't  had  any  music  the  last  two  sum- 
mers. I  had  everything  else  that  was  nice, 
but  still  I  missed  it,  of  course.  Do  you  play, 
or  sing  ?  " 

"A  little  of  both,"  said  Jack  modestly. 

"  Oh,  how  delightful !  We  must  make 
music  together  for  mamma  sometimes.  My 
own  piano  has  not  come  yet,  but  there  is 
the  dearest  old  funny  thing  here  which  be- 
longed to  the  Misses  Aytoun."  • 

"  Uncle  Tom  has  no  piano,"  said  Jack, 
"  but  I  have  my  violin,  so  I  don't  mind." 

"  Oh,  a  violin  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  opening 
her  eyes  wide.  "  Have  you  been  studying 
it  long?" 

"  Ever  since  I  was  six  years  old,"  was  the 
reply.  "  My  mother  would  not  let  me  be- 
gin earlier,  though  my  father  said  that  as 
soon  as  I  could  hold  a  knife  and  fork  I  could 
hold  a  bow.  He's  a  little  cracked  about 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  127 

violins,  my  father.  He  makes  them,  you 
know." 

"I  don't  know,"  cried  Hildegarde.  "Tell 
me  about  it ;  how  very  interesting  !  " 

"Well — I  don't  mean  that  it's  his  busi- 
ness," said  Jack,  who  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten his  shyness  entirely ;  "  he's  a  lawyer,  you 
know.  But  it's  the  only  thing  he  really 
cares  about.  He  has  a  workshop,  and  he 
has  made  —  oh,  ever  so  many  violins !  He 
went  to  Cremona  once,  and  spent  a  year 
there,  poking  about,  and  he  found  an  old 
church  that  was  going  to  be  repaired,  and 
bought  the  sounding-board.  Oh,  it  must 
have  been  a  couple  of  hundred  years  old. 
Then  he  moused  about  more  and  found  an 
old  fellow,  a  descendant  of  one  of  Amati's 
workmen,  and  I  believe  he  would  have 
bought  him,  too,  if  he  could ;  but,  anyhow, 
they  were  great  chums,  and  he  taught  my 
father  all  kinds  of  tricks.  When  he  came 


128  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

home  he  made  this  violin  out  of  a  piece  of 
the  old  sounding-board,  and  gave  it  to  me 
on  my  birthday.  It's  —  oh,  it's  no  end,  you 
know !  And  he  made  another  for  himself, 
and  we  play  together.  Do  you  know  the 
Mozart  Concerto  in  F,  for  two  violins  ?  It 
begins  with  an  allegro." 

And  being  fairly  mounted  on  his  hobby, 
Jack  Ferrers  pranced  about  on  it  as  if  he  had 
done  nothing  but  talk  to  Hildegarde  all  his 
life.  Hildegarde,  meanwhile,  listened  with  a 
mixture  of  surprise,  amusement,  and  respect. 
He  did  not  look  in  the  least  like  a  musical 
genius,  this  long-legged,  curly-haired  lad,  with 
his  blue  eyes  and  his  simple,  honest  face. 
She  thought  of  the  lion  front  of  Beethoven, 
and  the  brilliant,  exquisite  beauty  of  Mozart, 
and  tried  to  imagine  honest  Jack  standing 
between  them,  and  almost  laughed  in  the 
midst  of  an  animated  description  of  the  an- 
dante movement.  Then  she  realised  that  he 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  129 

was  talking  extremely  well,  and  talking  a 
great  deal  over  her  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  very  igno- 
rant," she  said  meekly,  when  her  cousin 
paused,  a  little  out  of  breath,  but  with  glow- 
ing cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes.  "  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  of  music,  of  course,  and 
I  love  it  dearly;  but  I  don't  know  about  it 
as  you  do,  not  a  bit.  I  play  the  piano  a 
little,  and  I  sing,  just  simple  old  songs,  you 
know,  and  that  is  all." 

Hildegarde  might  have  added  that  she  had 
a  remarkably  sweet  voice,  and  sang  with  taste 
and  feeling,  but  that  her  cousin  must  find  out 
for  himself  ;  besides,  she  was  really  over-awed 
by  this  superior  knowledge  in  one  whom  the 
night  before  she  had  been  inclined  to  set 
down  as  a  booby.  "  Shall  I  ever  learn,"  she 
thought  remorsefully,  "  not  to  make  these 
ridiculous  judgments  of  people,  before  I  know 
anything  about  them?" 


130  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Grahame  came  out  and 
asked  her  new-found  nephew,-  as  she  called 
him,  to  stay  to  dinner ;  but  at  sight  of  her 
the  lad's  shyness  returned  in  full  force.  His 
animation  died  away ;  he  hung  his  head,  and 
muttered  that  he  "  couldn't  possibly,  thank 
you  !  Uncle  Tom  —  stayed  too  long  already. 
Good-by ! "  and,  without  even  a  farewell  glance 
at  Hildegarde,  went  down  all  the  steps  at 
once  with  a  breakneck  plunge,  and  disap- 
peared. 

"Tragedy  of  the  Gorgon's  Head!  Medusa, 
Mrs.  Grahame,"  said  that  lady,  laughing 
softly.  "  Has  my  hair  turned  to  snakes, 
Hilda,  or  what  is  there  so  frightful  in  my 
appearance  ?  I  heard  your  voices  sounding 
so  merrily  I  thought  the  ice  was  completely 
broken." 

"  Oh,  I  think  it  is,"  said  Hildegarde.  "You 
came  upon  him  suddenly,  that  was  all." 

"  Next   time,"    said    her    mother,    "  I   will 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  131 

appear  gradually,  like  the  Cheshire  Cat,  begin- 
ning with  the  grin/' 

Hildegarde  laughed,  and  went  to  pin  a  red 
rose  on  her  mother's  dress.  Then  she  said  ; 
"  I  was  wrong,  Mammina,  and  you  were  right, 
as  usual.  It  is  a  tiresome  way  you  have,  so 
monotonous  !  But  really  he  is  a  very  nice 
boy,  and  he  knows,  oh !  ever  so  much  about 
music.  He  must  be  quite  a  wonder."  And 
she  told  her  mother  about  the  violin,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it. 

Mrs.  Grahame  agreed  with  her  that  it 
would  be  delightful  to  have  some  musical 
evenings,  and  Hildegarde  resolved  to  practise 
two  hours  a  day  regularly. 

"But  there  are  so  few  hours  in  the  day !  " 
she  complained.  "  I  thought  getting  up  at 
seven  would  give  me  —  oh  !  ever  so  much 
time,  and  I  have  none  at  all.  Here  is  the 
morning  nearly  gone,  and  we  have  had  no  read- 
ing, not  a  word."  And  she  looked  injured. 


182  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  There  is  an  hour  before  dinner,"  said  Mrs. 
Grahame,  "  and  the  '  Makers  of  Florence  '  is 
lying  on  my  table  at  this  minute.  Come  up, 
and  I  will  read  while  you  —  need  I  specify 
the  occupation  ?  " 

"  You  need  not,"  said  Hildegarde.  "  I 
really  did  mean  to  mend  it  this  morning, 
love,  but  things  happened.  I  had  to  sew  on 
boot-buttons  before  breakfast,  three  of  them, 
and  then  Janet  wanted  me  to  show  her  about 
something.  But  now  I  will  really  be  indus- 
trious." 

This  was  destined  to  be  a  day  of  visits.  In 
the  afternoon  Mrs.  Loftus  and  her  daughter 
called,  driving  up  in  great  state,  with  pranc- 
ing horses  and  clinking  harness.  Hilde- 
garde, who  was  in  her  own  room,  meditated 
a  plunge  down  her  private  staircase  and  an 
escape  by  way  of  the  back  door,  but  decided 
that  it  would  be  base  to  desert  her  mother ; 
so  she  smoothed  her  waving  hair,  inspected 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  133 

her  gown  to  make  sure  that  it  was  spotless, 
and  came  down  into  the  parlour. 

Mrs.  Loftus  was  a  very  large  lady,  with  a 
very  red  face,  who  talked  volubly  about  "our 
place,"  "our  horses,"  "our  hot-houses,"  etc., 
etc.  Miss  Loftus,  whose  name  was  Leonie, 
was  small  and  rather  pretty,  though  she  did 
not  look  altogether  amiable.  She  was  in- 
clined to  patronise  Hildegarde,  but  that 
young  person  did  not  take  kindly  to  patron- 
age, and  was  a  little  stately,  though  very  po- 
lite, in  her  manner. 

"  Yes,  it  is  pretty  about  here,"  said  Miss 
Loftus,  "  though  one  tires  of  it  very  quickly. 
We  vegetate  here  for  three  months  every 
summer ;  it's  papa's "  (she  pronounced  it 
"puppa")  "whim,  you  see.  How  long  a 
season  do  you  make  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  said  Hildegarde  quietly. 
"We  are  going  to  live  here." 

Miss  Loftus  raised  her  eyebrows.    "  Oh  !  you 


134  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

can  hardly  do  that,  I  should  think !  "  she  said 
with  a  superior  smile.  "  A  few  months  will 
probably  change  your  views  entirely.  There 
is  no  life  here,  absolutely  none." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Hildegarde.  "  I  thought 
it  was  a  very  prosperous  neighbourhood. 
All  the  farms  look  thrifty  and  well  cared 
for;  the  crops  are  alive,  at  least." 

"  Oh,  farmers  and  crops  !  "  said  Miss  Loftus. 
"  Very  likely.  I  meant  social  life." 

"  I  don't  like  social  life,"  said  Hildegarde. 

This  was  not  strictly  true,  but  she  could 
not  help  saying  it,  as  she  told  her  mother 
afterward. 

Miss  Loftus  passed  over  the  remark  with 
another  smile,  which  made  our  heroine  want 
to  pinch  her,  and  added,  "  You  must  consider 
us  your  only  neighbours,  as  indeed  we  really 


are." 


"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Loftus,  who  was 
now    rising    ponderously    to    depart.     "  We 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  135 

shall  hope  to  see  you  often  at  The  Poplars, 
Mrs.  Grahame,  There  is  not  another  house 
within  five  miles  where  one  can  visit.  Of 
course  I  don't  include  that  old  bear,  Colonel 
Ferrers,  who  never  speaks  a  civil  word  to  any 
one" 

Hildegarde  flushed  and  looked  at  her 
mother,  but  Mrs.  Grahame  said  very  quietly, 
"  I  have  known  Colonel  Ferrers  for  many 
years.  He  was  a  friend  of  my  husband's." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  said  Mrs.  Lof- 
tus,  looking  scared.  "  I  had  no  idea  —  I 
never  heard  of  any  one  knowing  Colonel  Fer- 
rers. Come,  Leonie,  we  must  be  going." 

They  departed,  first  engaging  Hildegarde, 
rather  against  her  will,  to  lunch  with  them 
the  following  Friday  ;  and  the  grand  equi- 
page rolled  clinking  and  jingling  away. 

"  "We  seem  to  have  fallen  upon  a  Montague 
and  Capulet  neighbourhood,"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
hame, smiling,  as  she  turned  to  go  upstairs. 


136  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  said  Hildegarde.  "Shall 
we  be  Tybalts  or  Mercutios  ?  " 

"  Neither,  I  hope,"  said  her  mother,  "  as 
both  were  run  through  the  body.  Of  course, 
however,  there  is  no  question  as  to  which 
neighbour  we  shall  find  most  congenial. 
And  now,  child,  get  your  hat,  and  let  us 
take  a  good  walk,  to  drive  the  cobwebs  out 
of  our  brains." 

"  Have  with  you !  "  said  Hildegarde,  run- 
ning lightly  up  the  stairs ;  a  only,  darling, 
don't  be  so — so  —  incongruous  as  to  call 
Mrs.  Loftus  a  cobweb  !  " 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  187 


CHAPTER  VII. 


MISS  AGATHA'S  CABINET. 


"  MAMMINA  !  I  have  found  them !  I  have 
found  them !  "  cried  Hildegarde,  rushing  like 
a  whirlwind  into  her  mother's  room,  and 
waving  something  over  her  head. 

"What  have  you  found,  darling?"  asked 
Mrs.  Grahame,  looking  up  from  her  writing. 
"  Not  your  wits,  for  example  ?  I  should  be 
so  glad ! " 

"One  may  not  shake  one's  mother,"  said 
Hildegarde,  "  but  beware,  lest  you  '  rouse  an 
Indian's  indomitable  nature.'  I  have  found 
the  keys  of  Miss  Agatha's  cabinet." 

"Really!"    cried    Mrs.    Grahame,   laying 


138  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

down  her  pen.  "  Are  you  sure  ?  where  were 
they?" 

"In  that  old  secretary  in  Uncle  Aytoun's 
room,"  said  Hildegarde.  "You  know  you 
said  I  might  rummage  in  it  some  day,  and 
this  rainy  afternoon  seemed  to  be  the  very 
time.  They  were  in  a  little  drawer,  all  by 
themselves;  and  see,  they  are  marked,  'Keys 
of  the  cabinet  in  my  sister  Agatha's  room, 
containing  miniatures,  etc.' ' 

"This  is  indeed  a  discovery!"  said  Mrs. 
Grahame,  rising.  "  We  will  examine  the 
cabinet  together,  dear ;  as  you  say,  it  is  just 
the  day  for  it." 

Hildegarde  led  the  way,  dancing  with  ex- 
citement and  pleasure  ;  her  mother  followed 
more  slowly.  There  might  be  sadness,  she 
thought,  as  well  as  pleasure,  in  looking  over 
the  relics  of  a  family  which  had  died  out, 
leaving  none  of  the  name,  so  far  as  she  knew, 
in  this  country  at  least,  Miss  Agatha's  room 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  139 

did  not  look  very  cheerful  in  the  grey  light 
of  a  wet  day.  The  prevailing  tint  of  walls 
and  ceiling  was  a  greyish  yellow ;  the  faded 
curtains  were  held  back  by  faded  ribbons  ; 
the  furniture  was  angular  and  high-shoul- 
dered. On  the  wall  was  a  coloured  print  of 
"  London  in  1802,"  from  which  the  metropo- 
lis would  seem  to  have  been  a  singular  place. 
The  only  interesting  feature  in  the  room  was 
the  cabinet  which  they  had  come  to  explore, 
and  this  was  really  a  beautiful  piece  of  furni- 
ture. It  stood  seven  feet  high  at  least,  and 
was  apparently  of  solid  ebony,  inlaid  with 
yellow  ivory  in  curious  spiral  patterns.  In 
the  centre  was  a  small  door,  almost  entirely 
covered  with  the  ivory  tracery;  above,  below, 
and  around  were  drawers,  large  and  small, 
deep  and  shallow,  a  very  wilderness  of 
drawers.  All  had  silver  keyholes  of  curious 
pattern,  and  all  were  fast  locked,  a  fact 
which  had  seriously  interfered  with  Hilde- 


140  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

garde's  peace  of  mind  ever  since  they  came 
to  the  house.  Now,  however,  that  she  act- 
ually stood  before  it  with  the  "  Open 
sesame,"  this  bunch  of  quaint  silver  keys 
in  her  hand,  she  shrank  back,  and  felt  shy 
and  afraid. 

"You  must  open  it,  mamma,"  she  said. 
"  I  dare  not." 

Mrs.  Grahame  fitted  a  key  to  one  of  the 
larger  drawers,  and  opened  it.  A  faint  per- 
fume floated  out,  old  roses  and  lavender,  laid 
away  one  knows  not  how  many  years.  Under 
folds  of  silver  paper  lay  some  damask  towels, 
fine  and  thick  and  smooth,  but  yellow  with 
age.  They  were  tied  with  a  lilac  ribbon,  and 
on  the  ribbon  was  pinned  a  piece  of  paper, 
covered  with  writing  in  a  fine,  cramped  hand. 

"Lift  them  out  carefully,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Grahame,  "  and  read  the  label." 

Hildegarde  complied,  and  read  aloud : 
"These  towels  were  spun  and  woven  by  my 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  141 

grandmother  Grahame  in  Scotland,  before  she 
came  to  this  country.  Her  maiden  name  was 
Annot  Mclntosh." 

"What  beautiful  linen!"  said  Mrs.  Gra- 
hame, smoothing  the  glossy  folds  with  the 
hand  of  a  housewife.  "  I  always  wished  I 
had  learned  to  spin  and  weave.  Linen  that 
one  buys  has  no  feeling  in  it.  Lay  it  back 
reverently,  degenerate  daughter  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  your  degenerate  mother 
will  open  another  drawer." 

The  next  drawer  contained  several  sets  of 
baby-clothes,  at  sight  of  which  Hildegarde 
opened  her  eyes  very  wide  indeed.  Her 
mother  was  an  exquisite  needle-woman,  so 
was  her  cousin  Wealthy  Bond,  and  she  herself 
had  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of  the  "  fine 
seam"  she  could  sew;  but  never  had  she 
seen  such  needlework  as  this :  tiny  caps, 
wrought  so  thick  with  flower  and  leaf  that 
no  spot  of  the  plain  linen  could  be  seen ; 


142  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

robes  of  finest  lawn,  with  wonderful  em- 
broidered fronts ;  shawls  of  silk  flannel, 
with  deep  borders  of  heavy  "laid  work." 
One  robe  was  so  beautiful  that  both  Hilde- 
garde  and  her  mother  cried  over  it,  and  took 
it  up  to  examine  it  more  carefully.  On  the 
breast  was  pinned  a  piece  of  paper,  with  an 
inscription  in  the  same  delicate  hand  :  "  Hes- 
ter's christening-robe.  We  think  it  was  in 
consequence  of  this  fine  work  that  our  dear 
mother  lost  her  eyesight/' 

"I  should  think  it  highly  probable,"  said 
Mrs.  Grahame,  laying  the  exquisite  monument 
of  folly  back  in  the  drawer.  "  I  did  not  know 
that  old  Madam  Aytoun  was  blind.  What 
is  written  on  that  tiny  cap,  in  the  corner 
there  ?  It  must  be  a  doll's  cap ;  no  baby 
could  be  so  small." 

Hildegarde  read  the  inscription  :  "  Worn 
by  our  uncle  Hesketh,  who  weighed  two 
pounds  at  birth.  He  grew  to  be  six  feet  and 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  143 

six  inches  in  height,  and  weighed  three  hun- 
dred pounds." 

"What  a  wonderful  person  Miss  Agatha 
must  have  been !  "  said  Hildegarde.  "  Who 
else  would  think  of  all  these  pleasant  bits  of 
information  ?  And  now  for  the  next 
drawer!" 

She  opened  it,  and  gave  a  little  shriek  of 
delight.  Here  truly  were  beautiful  things, 
such  as  neither  she  nor  her  mother  had  ever 
seen  before :  three  short  aprons  of  white 
silk,  trimmed  with  deep  gold  lace,  and  cov- 
ered with  silk-embroidered  flowers  of  richest 
hues,  one  with  tulips,  another  with  roses,  a 
third  with  carnations.  Folds  of  tissue  paper 
separated  them  from  each  other,  and  the 
legend  told  thai  they  had  been  worn  by  "  our 
*  great-grandmother  Ponsonby,  when  she  was 
Maid  of  Honour  to  Queen  Caroline.  She  was 
an  Englishwoman." 

Then    came    a   tippet    of   white    marabou 


144  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

feathers,  buttoned  into  a  silk  case,  and  smell- 
ing faintly  of  camphor  ;  a  gown  of  rose- 
coloured  satin,  brocaded  with  green,  and  one  of 
ruby-coloured  velvet,  which  bore  the  inscrip- 
tion :  "  This  was  the  gown  on  which  our  great- 
grandmother  Ponsonby  wore  the  diamond  but- 
tons which  have  since  been  divided  among 
her  descendants.  A  sinful  waste  of  money 
which  might  have  been  put  to  good  purpose." 
"  How  very  frivolous  Great-grandmother 
Ponsonby  must  have  been  !  "  said  Hildegarde. 
"  I  think  Miss  Agatha  is  rather  hard  on  her, 
though.  Perhaps  the  buttons  were  wedding 
presents.  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  them 
all!  See,  Mammina,  here  are  her  red  shoes — • 
just  like  Beatrix  Esmond's,  aren't  they  ?  My 
foot  would  not  begin  to  go  into  them.  And 
here  —  oh!  the  lace!  the  lace!"  For  there 
was  a  whole  drawer  full  of  lace,  all  in  little 
bundles  neatly  tied  up  and  marked.  Here 
was  Madam  Aytoun's  wedding  veil,  Grand- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  145 

mother  This  One's  Mechlin  tabs,  Aunt  That 
One's  Venetian  flounces.  It  would  take  pages 
to  describe  all  the  laces,  and  the  pleasure 
that  mother  and  daughter  had  in  examin- 
ing them.  What  woman  or  girl  does  not 
love  lace  ?  Finally,  in  a  corner  of  the  drawer, 
was  a  morocco  box  containing  a  key,  whose 
ivory  label  said :  "  Central  compartment. 
Miniatures." 

"  This  will  be  the  best  of  all ! "  cried  Hil- 
degarde,  eagerly.  "  Perhaps  we  shall  find 
Great-grandmother  Ponsonby  herself.  Who 
knows?" 

The  ivory  door  flew  open  as  the  key 
turned,  and  revealed  a  space  set  round  with 
tiny  drawers.  Each  drawer  contained  one  or 
more  miniatures,  in  cases  of  red  or  green 
morocco,  and  Hildegarde  and  her  mother 
examined  them  with  delight.  Here,  to  be 
sure,  was  Great-grandmother  Ponsonby;  in 
fact,  she  appeared  twice :  first,  as  a  splendid 


146  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

young  matron,  clad  in  the  identical  ruby 
velvet  with  the  diamond  buttons,  her  hair 
powdered  high  and  adorned  with  feathers ; 
and,  again,  as  a  not  less  superb  old  lady,  with 
folds  of  snowy  muslin  under  her  chin,  and 
keen  dark  eyes  flashing  from  under  her  white 
curls,  and  a  wonderful  cap.  Here  was  Grand- 
father Aytoun,  first  as  a  handsome  boy,  with 
great  dark  eyes,  and  a  parrot  on  his  hand, 
then  as  a  somewhat  choleric-looking  gentle- 
man with  a  great  fur  collar. 

"  How  they  do  change  !  "  said  Hildegarde. 
"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  to  see  two  of  the 
same  person.  Let  me  see,  now !  He  mar- 
ried —  " 

"  The  daughter  of  Great-grandmother  Pon- 
sonby,"  replied  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  Here  she  is ! 
Caroline  Regina  Ponsonby,  cet.  16.  Named 
after  the  royal  patroness,  you  see.  What  a 
sweet,  gentle-looking  girl !  I  fear  her  mag- 
nificent mother  and  her  decided-looking  hus- 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  147 

band  may  have  been  too  much  for  her,  for  I 
see  she  died  at  twenty-three." 

"  Oh  !  and  he  married  again  ! "  cried  Hil- 
degarde,  opening  another  case.  "  See  here  ! 
Selina  Euphemia  McKenzie,  second  wife  of 
John  Aytoun.  Oh!  and  here  is  a  slip  of 
paper  inside  the  frame. 

"'  Sweet  flower,  that  faded  soon 
In  Eapture's  fervid  noon. 

<J.  A.' 

"  Dear  me !  he  must  have  written  it  him- 
self ! "  she  added.  "It  is  not  like  Miss  Agatha's 
handwriting.  Why,  she  only  lived  three 
months,  poor  dear !  He  makes  very  sure 
about  the  rapture,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  does,"  said  her  mother,  smil- 
ing, "  considering  that  he  married  a  third 
time,  inside  a  year  from  the  fading  of  the 
sweet  flower.  Look  at  this  aquiline  dame? 
with  the  remarkably  firm  mouth,  and  the 


148  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

bird  of  paradise  in  her  turban.  <  Adelaide 
McLeod,  third  wife  of  John  Aytoun.  She 
survived  him.'  I'll  warrant  she  did!"  said 
Mrs.  Grahame.  "  She  carries  conquest  in  her 
face.  All  the  children  were  of  the  first  mar- 
riage, and  I  fear  she  was  not  a  gentle  step- 
mother. I  wonder  who  this  may  be !  "  She 
took  up  a  heavy  bracelet  of  dark  hair,  with  a 
small  miniature  set  in  the  clasp.  "  What  a 
pretty,  pretty  child  !  Good  Miss  Agatha  has 
surely  not  left  us  in  the  dark  concerning  him. 
6 Little  John  Hesketh,  1804.'  That  is  all." 

"  Why  Hesketh  ?  "  asked  Hildegarde.  "  I 
have  never  heard  of  any  Heskeths." 

Mrs.  Grahame  was  about  to  plunge  into 
genealogical  depths,  when  Hildegarde,  who 
had  been  opening  a  case  of  purple  morocco, 
carefully  secured  with  silver  clasps,  gave  an 
exclamation  of  pleasure. 

"Hester!"  she  cried.  "This  is  Hester,  I 
know." 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  149 

Her  mother  looked,  and  nodded;  and  they 
both  gazed  in  silence  at  the  lovely  face,  with 
its  earnest  grey  eyes. 

"  The  dear !  "  murmured  Hildegarde.  "  How 
I  should  have  loved  her !  I  am  sure  we  should 
have  liked  the  same  things.  I  wish  she  had 
not  died." 

"  You  must  remember  that  she  would  be  a 
dear  old  lady  now,  were  she  alive,  and  not  a 
young  lassie.  What  does  the  slip  say,  dar- 
ling? Miss  Agatha's  hand  is  rather  trying 
for  my  eyes." 

" '  Our  dearest  Hester,'"  Hildegarde  read. 
"  *  A  duplicate  of  the  one  painted  for  Robert 
Ferrers.'  Robert  Ferrers ! "  she  repeated 
thoughtfully.  "  Is  that  Colonel  Ferrers?  and 
do  you  suppose  —  " 

At  this  moment  came  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  Janet  informed  them  that  Mrs.  Lankton 
was  in  the  hall,  and  would  like  to  speak  to 
one  of  the  ladies. 


150  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Hildegarde,  laying  down 
the  miniature  reluctantly. 

"We  will  both  go/'  said  her  mother.  "The 
poor  old  dame  !  We  have  neglected'  her  all 
these  days." 

They  locked  the  drawer  of  the  treasure- 
cabinet,  and  Hildegarde  ran  to  put  the  pre- 
cious keys  in  a  safe  place,  while  her  mother 
went  directly  downstairs.  By  the  time  Hilde- 
garde appeared,  Mrs.  Lankton  was  launched 
on  the  full  tide  of  her  woes,  and  was  sailing 
along  with  a  good  breeze. 

"  And  it's  comin'  in,  Mis'  Grahame  —  I'd 
say  like  a  house  afire,  if  'twa'n't  that  'twas 
wet.  Dreepin'  all  down  the  chimbley,  and 
runnin'  over  the  floor  in  streams.  I  stepped 
into  a  pool  o'  water  with  my  bar'  feet,  gittin' 
out  o'  bed ;  likely  I  caught  my  death,  but  it's 
no  great  matter.  Ah!  Mis'  Grahame,  I've 
seen  trouble  all  my  life.  Mr.  Aytoun,  he 
was  like  a  father  to  me.  He  wouldn't  never 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  151 

ha'  let  me  go  bar'foot  in  water  if  he'd  ben 
alive.  I've  ben  a  hard-workin'  woman  all 
my  life,  and  he  knowed  it.  I  hope  your  own 
health  is  good,  dear  ?  " 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mrs.  Lankton  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Grahame,  kindly,  as  a  moment's 
pause  gave  her  a  chance  to  get  in  a  word. 
"  Does  the  roof  need  shingling  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Aytoun  was  goin'  to  have  it  shingled 
for  me  last  Janooary,"  said  Mrs.  Lankton, 
with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan ;  "  and 
he  was  called  on  to  die  in  Febooary.  Jest 
afore  he  passed  away,  he  was  tryin'  dretful 
hard  to  say  something  and  I  ain't  no  manner 
o'  doubt  myself  but  what  'twas  (  Shingle  ! ' 
He  had  it  on  his  mind;  they  needn't  tell  me. 
But  nobody  seemed  to  feel  a  call  after  he 
was  gone.  Ah,  dear  me !  You  don't  know 
nothin'  about  it,  Mis'  Grahame.  You  ain't 
never  stepped  bar'foot  out  o'  your  bed  into  a 
pool  o'  water,  and  you  all  doubled  up  with 


152  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

neurology  in  your  j'ints.  Ah,  well,  'twon't 
be  long  now  that  I  shall  trouble  anybody." 

"  Which  is  your  house,  Mrs.  Lankton  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Grahame.  "I  will  try  to  have 
something  done  about  the  roof  at  once." 

"  I  know  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  quickly.  "  It 
is  a  brown  Cottage  with  a  green  door." 

u  See  how  she  knows  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Lankton,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  Ain't  that 
thoughtful  ?  Ah !  she'll  be  a  comfit  to  you, 
Mis'  Grahame,  if  you've  luck  to  raise  her,  but 
there's  no  knowin'.  Don't  you  set  your 
heart  on  it,  that's  all.  Ah !  I  know  what 
trouble  is." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  am  '  raised  '  already, 
Mrs.  Lankton  ?  "  Hilda  asked,  smiling  down 
on  the  weazened  face  that  did  not  reach  to 
her  shoulder. 

"  So  fur  ye  be,  dear  !  "  replied  the  widow, 

• 

with  a  doleful  shake  of  the  head.  "  So  fur 
ye  be?  but  there's  no  knowin'.  My  Phrony 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  153 

was  jest  like  you,  hearty  and  stout,  and  she's 
gone.  Ah  !  dear  me  !  She  had  a  store  tooth, 
where  she  knocked  out  one  of  hers,  slidin', 
and  she  swallered  it  one  night,  and  she 
never  got  over  it.  Lodged  on  her  liver,  the 
doctor  said.  He  went  down  and  tried  to 
fetch  it  up,  but  'twa'n't  no  use.  She  was 
fleshy,  same  as  you  be.  Yes,  gals  is  hard  to 


raise." 


At  this,  Hildegarde  retreated  suddenly  into 
the  parlour,  and  Mrs.  Grahame,  in  a  voice 
which  shook  a  little,  expressed  proper  regret 
and  sympathy,  and  repeated  that  she  would 
have  the  roof  attended  to. 

"  And  now,"  she  added,  "  go  into  the 
kitchen,  and  auntie  shall  give  you  a  cup  of 
hot  tea.  You  must  dry  your  feet,  too,  before 
you  go  out  again." 

"  The  Lord'll  reward  you,  dear !  "  said 
Mrs.  Lankton,  turning  with  a  faint  gleam  of 
cheerfulness  toward  the  kitchen  door.  •  "  It 


154  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

ain't  long  before  I  shall  go  the  way  of 
all,  but  it  doos  seem  as  if  I  mought  go  dry, 
'stead  o'  dreepin'.  But  youll  be  rewarded, 
Mis'  Grahame.  I  felt  as  if  you'd  be  a  mother 
to  me,  soon  as  I  sot  eyes  on  ye.  6-ood- 
mornin',  dear!  "  and  with  a  groan  that  ended 
in  a  half-chuckle,  she  disappeared. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  155 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    POPLARS. 

PUNCTUALLY  at  half-past  one  on  Friday. 
Hildegarde  walked  up  the  avenue  which  led 
to  "The  Poplars."  It  was  a  broad  avenue, 
and  the  steps  to  which  it  led  were  broad,  and 
the  whole  house  had  an  air  of  being  spread 
out.  "  But  Mrs.  Loftus  needs  a  good  deal  of 
room  !  "  said  Hildegarde  to  herself,  and  then 
cuffed  herself  mentally  for  wickedness. 

Very  fair  and  sweet  she  looked,  our  Hilde- 
garde, in  her  white  serge  gown,  with  the 
pretty  hat  of  white  "  chiffon  "  which  "  Mam- 
mina"had  made  only  the  evening  before. 
Standing  on  the  verandah,  with  eyes  and 
cheeks  brilliant  from  walking,  she  met  the 


156  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

entire  approval  of  a  young  gentleman  who 
was  reclining  behind  the  hedge.  He  was  a 
very  young  gentleman.  He  wore  corduroy 
knickerbockers,  and  he  was  lying  flat  on  his 
stomach,  with  his  heels  in  the  air,  sucking  a 
large  bull's-eye.  The  sudden  apparition  of 
a  tall  maiden  in  white,  with  shining  eyes, 
nearly  caused  him  to  swallow  the  bull's-eye, 
but  he  recovered  himself,  and  gazed  stead- 
fastly at  her.  When  the  door  opened  to 
admit  her,  the  young  gentleman  sighed,  and 
considered  that  it  was  not  so  fine  a  day  as  he 
had  thought  it.  "  She  is  a  beautiful  girl !  " 
he  said  to  himself  with  fervour ;  "  she  is  a 
Purple  Maid  !  "  and  then  he  rolled  over  on 
his  back,  to  see  if  the  bull's-eye  would  taste  as 
good  in  that  position. 

Hildegarde,  meanwhile,  unconscious  of  the 
approving  scrutiny  of  the  infant  connoisseur, 
was  ushered  by  a  stately  butler  through  room 
after  room,  until  she  came  to  one  where  Mrs, 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  157 

and  Miss  Loftus  were  waiting  to  receive  her. 
They  were  both  very  cordial,  one  in  a  ponder- 
ous, the  other  in  an  airily  patronising  way. 

"  But  I  did  not  hear  you  drive  up/'  said 
Mrs.  Loftus,  "  and  we  have  been  listening 
every  moment ;  for  I  said  to  Leonie, '  Suppose 
she  should  not  come,  after  all ! '  And  so 
you  must  have  driven  up  very  quietly,  you 
see." 

"  I  walked,"  said  Hildegarde.  smiling ;  "  so 
there  were  no  wheels  to  hear,  Mrs.  Loftus." 

"Walked!  Is  it  possible?"  cried  Mrs. 
Loftus,  while  her  daughter  raised  her  eye- 
brows and  regarded  Hildegarde  with  languid 
curiosity.  "  My  dear,  you  must  be  terribly 
heated.  Let  me  ring  for  some  Florida  water. 
No,  I  insist !  "  as  Hildegarde  made  a  gesture 
of  protest.  "  It  is  so  dangerous  to  walk  in 
the  heat  of  the  day.  The  brain,  you  know, 
becomes  heated,  and  it.  does  something  to  the 
spinal  marrow.  p  Do  you  feel  any  dizziness  ? 


158  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

Really,  the  best  thing  would  be  for  you  to  lie 
down  at  once  for  half  an  hour.  I  will  darken 
the  room,  and  —  " 

"Nonsense,  mamma!"  said  Miss  Loftus, 
"  I  don't  believe  Miss  Grahame  wants  to  lie 
down." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  "  cried  Hildegarde,  thank- 
ful for  the  interruption.  "  I  am  used  to  walk- 
ing, you  know,  Mrs.  Loftus.  I  always  walk, 
everywhere.  I  like  it  very  much  better  than 
driving;  besides,"  she  added,  "we  have  no 
horses,  so  I  should  have  to  walk  in  any  case." 

"  I  think  it  so  dangerous ! "  said  Mrs. 
Loftus,  with  a  compassionate  shake  of  the 
head.  "  In  the  heat  of  the  day,  as  I  said, 
the  spinal  marrow ;  so  important,  my  dear ! 
and  towards  evening  there  is  a  chill  in  the 
air,  malaria,  all  kinds  of  dreadful  things.  I 
shall  make  a  point  of  picking  you  up  when- 
ever I  am  driving  by  —  I  drive  by  nearly 
every  day  —  and  taking  you  out." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  159 

"Oh  —  thank  you!"  cried  poor  Hilde- 
garde,  an  abyss  opening  at  her  feet.  "  You 
are  very  kind,  but  I  could  not !  I  am  so  busy 
—  and  walking  is  my  delight." 

The  announcement  of  lunch  created  a  di- 
version, to  the  great  relief  of  our  heroine. 
Mr.  Loftus  appeared,  a  small,  shrivelled  man, 
with  sharp  eyes,  whose  idea  of  making  him- 
self agreeable  was  to  criticise  each  article  of 
food  as  it  came  on  the  table. 

"  Very  weak  bouillon,  Mrs.  Loftus "  (he 
called  it  "  bullion  ").  "  Very  weak  !  greasy, 
too!  Not  fit  to  put  on  the  table.  What's 
this?  chicken?  Fowl,  I  should  say!  Rooster, 
Mrs.  L. !  Is  this  your  twelve-dollar  cook  ? 
Not  a  thing  Miss  Grahame  can  eat !  She'll 
go  and  tell  old  Ferrers  how  we  gave  her  roast 
rooster,  see  if  she  don't !  I  hear  you're  very 
thick  with  old  Ferrers,  Miss  Grahame.  Old 
Grizzly  Bruin,  /  call  him.  Good  name,  too ! 
he !  he !  " 


160  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Hildegarde  blushed  scarlet,  and  wondered 
what  her  mother  would  say  in  her  place.  All 
she  could  do  was  to  murmur  that  the  chicken 
was  very  nice  indeed,  and  to  hope  that  she 
did  not  show  more  of  her  disgust  than  was 
proper.  The  luncheon  was  very  fine,  in  spite 
of  Mr.  Loftus's  depreciation ;  and  when  it  came 
to  the  dessert,  he  changed  his  tune,  and 
descanted  on  the  qualities  of  "  my  peaches," 
"  my  nectarines,"  and  "  my  gardener." 

"  You  don't  eat  enough,  Miss  Grahame !  " 
was  his  comment.  "  No  need  to  stint  your- 
self here ;  plenty  for  all,  and  more  where 
that  came  from." 

But  here  Miss  Loftus  came  to  the  rescue, 
and  with  a  "  Don't  be  tiresome,  puppa ! " 
changed  the  conversation,  and  began  to  talk 
of  the  Worth  gowns  she  had  seen  in  New 
York,  on  her  last  visit. 

"Which  do  you  admire  most,  Worth  or 
Felix?"  she  asked,  after  a  graphic  descrip- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  161 

tion  of  some  marvellous  gown  which  fitted 
the  fortunate  owner  "as  if  she  had  been 
poured  into  it.  Absolutely  poured,  Miss 
Grahame !  " 

"I  —  I  really  don't  know,"  Hildegarde  con- 
fessed meekly.  "  I  never  can  tell  one  dress- 
maker's style  from  another.  If  a  gown  is 
pretty,  that  is  all  I  think  about  it." 

"  Oh !  if  you  have  never  studied  these 
things,  of  course ! "  said  the  fair  Leonie 
indulgently.  "  I  went  to  Madame  Vivien's 
school,  you  see,  and  we  had  a  regular  hour 
for  studying  fashions.  I  can  tell  a  Worth 
or  a  Felix  or  a  Donovan  gown  as  far  as  I 
can  see  it." 

"  Did  you  like  Madame  Vivien's  school  ?  " 
asked  Hildegarde. 

"  She  ought  to !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Loftus. 
"  It  cost  enough,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Oh,  it  is  the  best  school  in  the  city,  of 
course,"  said  Leonie  complacently.  "We  had 


162  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

a  very  good  time,  a  set  of  us  that  were  there. 
They  called  us  the  Highflyers,  and  I  suppose 
we  had  rather  top-lofty  notions.  Anyway, 
we  were  Madame' s  favourites,  because  we  had 
the  air.,  she  always  said.  She  couldn't  endure 
a  dowdy  girl,  and  she  dressed  beautifully  her- 
self. There  were  two  or  three  girls  that  were 
regular  digs,  with  their  noses  always  in  their 
books,  and  Madame  couldn't  bear  them. 
'  Miss  Antrim,'  she  was  always  saying  to  one 
of  them,  '  it  is  true  that  you  know  your  les- 
son, but  your  gown  is  buttoned  awry,  and 
it  fits  as  if  the  miller  had  made  it.'  He ! 
he ! " 

"And —  and  did  you  care  for  study?" 
Hildegarde  asked,  mentally  sympathising 
with  Miss  Antrim,  though  conscious  that  she 
would  never  have  been  allowed  to  go  to 
school  with  a  gown  buttoned  awry. 

"Oh!  I  liked  French,"  said  Miss  Loftus, 
"  and  history  pretty  well,  when  it  wasn't  too 


HTLDEGARDE'S   HOME.  163 

poky.  But  you  didn't  have  to  study  at 
Madame  Vivien's  unless  you  wanted  to." 

"  What  Leonie  went  most  for  was  man- 
ners," explained  Mrs.  Loftus,  taking  a  large 
mouthful  of  mayonnaise,  and  continuing  her 
remarks  while  eating  it.  "  Elegant  manners 
they  teach  at  Madame  Vivien's." 

"  How  to  enter  a  room  well,"  -  -  Leonie  enu- 
merated the  points  on  her  taper  fingers, — 
"how  to  salute  and  take  leave  of  a  hostess, 
how  to  order  a  dinner,  —  those  were  some  of 
the  most  important  things.  We  took  turns 
in  making  up  menus,  and  prizes  were  given 
for  the  best." 

"  Leonie  took  the  prize  for  the  best  minew !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Loftus,  triumphantly.  "  Tell 
Miss  Grahame  your  prize  minew,  Leonie." 

Nothing  loth,  Leonie  described  the  dinner 
at  length,  from  little-neck  clams  to  coffee ; 
and  a  very  fine  dinner  it  was. 

"  Hm  !  "  grunted  Mr.  Loftus,  "  better  din- 


164  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

ner  than  we  ever  get  from  your  twelve-dollar 
cook,  Mrs.  L.  Hm !  Fine  dinners  on  paper, 
I  dare  say.  Hand  me  that  salad !  Why  don't 
you  give  Miss  Grahame  some  more  salad  ? 
She  ain't  eating  anything  at  all." 

"  Then  we  had  lectures  on  the  Art  of 
Dress,"  continued  the  fair  student  of  Madame 
Vivien's.  "  Those  were  very  interesting." 

"  Well,  dress  does  change,  the  most  of  any- 
thing!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Loftus.  "To  see 
the  difference  now  from  when  I  was  a  girl ! 
Why,  when  I  was  married  I  had  thirty-five 
yards  of  silk  in  my  wedding  dress,  and  now 
nobody  don't  have  more  than  ten  or  twelve. 
Almost  too  scant  to  cover  'em,  it  seems  some- 
times." 

"  Thirty-five  yards,  mamma  !  "  exclaimed 
her  daughter.  "  You're  joking  !  " 

"  Not  a  mite !  "  Mrs.  Loftus  said  firmly. 
"  Thirty-five  yards  of  white  satin,  and  trimmed 
with  four  whole  pieces  of  lace  and  three  hun- 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  166 

dred  and  eighty-two  bows."  The  two  girls 
exclaimed  in  wonder,  and  Mrs.  Loftus  con- 
tinued in  high  good-humour.  "  Yes,  a  dress 
was  a  dress  in  those  days.  Why,  I  had  one 
walking  dress,  a  brown  silk  it  was,  with  fifty 
yards  in  it." 

"  But  how  was  it  possible  ? "  cried  Hilde- 
garde.  "  Did  you  wear  crinoline  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  not  a  mite  of  hoop- 
skirt  ;  but  things  were  very  full,  you  see. 
Miss  Grahame.  That  brown  dress,  now  ;  it 
had  a  deep  side-plaiting  all  round,  and  an 
overskirt,  very  full  too,  and  the  back  very 
deep,  flounced,  scalloped,  and  trimmed  with 
narrow  piping,  looped  in  each  corner  with 
scallops.  There  was  a  deep  fringe  round  the 
basque  and  overskirt,  and  coming  up  from 
the  postilion  (that  was  deep,  too),  to  loop  on 
the  left  shoulder." 

"Well,    it    sounds    awful!"    said    Leonie 


166  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

frankly.  "  You  must  have  been  a  perfect 
sight,  mamma!  " 

"  She  was  better-looking  than  you  are,  or 
ever  will  be  !  "  snarled  Mr.  Loftus.  "  Are  you 
goin'  to  sit  here  all  day  talkin'  about  women's 
folderols  ?  I  have  to  pay  for  'em,  and  I  guess 
that's  all  I  want  to  know  about  'em." 

Glad  enough  was  Hildegarde  when  four 
o'clock  came,  and  she  could  plead  an  appoint- 
ment to  meet  her  mother  at  a  certain  turn 
of  the  road,  as  they  were  going  for  a  walk 
together. 

"  More  walking ! "  cried  Mrs.  Loftus.  "  You'll 
have  a  fever,  I'm  certain  of  it.  I  don't  think 
girls  ought  ever  to  walk,  unless  it's  a  little 
turn  in  the  park  while  the  horses  are  wait- 
ing, or  something  of  that  sort."  She  begged 
Hildegarde  to  wait  till  the  horses  were  har- 
nessed, but  our  heroine  was  firm,  and  finally 
departed,  leaving  her  good-natured  hostess 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  167 

shaking  her  head  in  the  doorway,  like  a  man- 
darin in  wine-coloured  satin. 

As  she  turned  the  corner  by  the  gilded  iron 
gates,  Hildegarde  was  startled  by  the  appari- 
tion of  a  small  boy  in  brown  corduroy,  sitting 
on  a  post  and  swinging  his  legs. 

Hildegarde  was  fond  of  boys.  One  of  her 
two  best  friends  was  a  boy,  and  she  had  a 
little  sweetheart  in  Maine,  whose  name  was 
Benny,  and  who  loved  her  with  all  the  ardour 
of  four  years  old.  This  boy  must  be  six  or 
seven,  she  thought.  He  had  red  hair,  a 
round,  rosy,  freckled  face,  and  two  eyes  so 
blue  and  so  bright  that  the  very  meeting 
them  made  her  smile.  Her  smile  was  an- 
swered by  a  flash,  which  lighted  up  the  whole 
face,  and  subsided  instantly,  leaving  preter- 
natural gravity. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Hildegarde.  "  Is 
it  fun  sitting  there  ?  " 

"  No !  "  said  the  boy  •  and  down  he  came. 


168  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Then  shyness  seized  him;  he  hung  his  head 
and  considered  his  toes  attentively. 

"  My  name  is  Hilda/'  continued  our  heroine. 
"  Do  you  think  it  is  a  nice  name  ?  " 

He  nodded,  still  intent  on  the  boots. 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  your  name  is," 
she  went  on  sadly.  "  I  should  like  to  tell 
you  about  my  puppy,  if  you  would  walk  along 
by  me,  but  you  see  I  can't,  because  I  don't 
know  your  name." 

"  Hugh  Allen,"  said  the  lad  briefly. 

"Hugh!"  cried  Hildegarde,  her  cheek 
flushing  and  li  or  eyes  softening.  "  That  was 
my  dear  father's  name.  We  must  be  friends, 
Hugh,  for  the  name's  sake.  Come  along, 
laddie ! " 

The  boy  came,  and  walked  in  silence  by 
her  side,  occasionally  stealing  a  glance  at  the 
kind,  bright  face  so  much  higher  up  than  his 
own. 

"  Well,  my  puppy,"  said  Hildegarde,  a§  if 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  169 

she  were  continuing  a  conversation.  "His 
name  was  Patsy,  and  he  was  such  a  funny 
puppy,  —  all  white,  with  a  great  big  head, 
and  paws  almost  as  big,  and  a  mouth  large 
enough  to  swallow  —  oh  !  I  don't  know  what ! 
a  watermelon,  perhaps.  I  loved  him  very 
much.  He  used  to  gnaw  my  boots,  and  nibble 
the  skirt  of  my  dress ;  but,  of  course,  I  didn't 
mind,  for  I  knew  he  was  cutting  his  teeth, 
poor  dear,  and  couldn't  help  it.  But  when  he 
gnawed  all  the  corners  off  the  leather  chairs 
in  the  dining-room,  my  mother  dear  didn't 
like  it,  and  she  said  Patsy  must  go.  Then 
my  father  said  he  would  take  him  to  his 
office  every  day,  and  keep  him  out  of  mischief, 
and  then  I  could  take  the  dear  for  a  good 
walk  in  the  afternoon,  and  have  a  comfortable 
time  with  him,  and  he  could  sleep  in  the 
shed.  Well,  I  thought  this  was  a  delightful 
plan,  and  the  next  day  Patsy  went  off  with 
papa,  as  pleased  and  happy  as  possible.  Oh, 


170  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

dear !  Hugh,  what  do  you  think  that  puppy 
did  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  bit  his  legs/'  suggested  Hugh, 
with  a  gleam  of  delight  in  his  blue  eyes. 

."  Oh,  no !  "  said  Hildegarde.  "  He  wouldn't 
have  dared  to  do  that,  for  he  was  a  sad 
coward,  my  poor  Patsy.  My  father  left  him 
shut  up  in  the  office  while  he  went  to  lunch  ; 
and  as  the  day  was  mild  (though  it  was 
winter),  he  left  his  new  ulster  on  a  chair, 
where  he  had  laid  it  when  he  first  came  in. 
Hugh,  when  he  came  back,  he  found  the  ulster 
—  it  was  a  stout  heavy  one  —  he  found  it  all 
torn  into  little  pieces,  and  the  pieces  piled  in 
a  heap,  and  Patsy  lying  on  top  of  them." 

"  Oh-ee  !  "  cried  the  boy.  "  And  then  what 
happened  ?  Did  he  smite  him  hip  and  thigh, 
even  unto  the  going  down  of  the  sun  ?  " 

Hildegarde  opened  her  eyes  a  little  at  this 
scriptural  phrase,  but  answered :  "  Yes,  I  am 
afraid  papa  gave  him  a  pretty  severe  whip- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  171 

ping.  He  had  to,  of  course.  And  then  he 
sent  him  away,  and  I  never  saw  poor  Patsy 
again.  Don't  you  think  that  was  sad, 
Hugh?" 

"It  was  sad  for  you,"  replied  the  boy, 
"but  sadder  for  Patsy.  Would  you  like  to 
be  a  dog  ? "  he  added,  looking  up  suddenly 
into  Hildegarde's  face. 

"  I  —  think  —  not !  "  said  that  young  wo- 
man meditatively.  "I  should  have  to  eat 
scraps  and  cold  bones,  and  that  I  could  not 
endure.  Besides,  you  couldn't  read,  or  play 
on  the  piano,  or  anything  of  that  sort.  No, 
I  am  quite  sure  I  should  not  like  it,  Hugh." 

"But  you  would  have  a  tail!"  cried  the 
boy,  with  kindling  eyes.  "  A  tail  to  wag ! 
And  —  and  just  think  how  you  would  go  with 
four  legs  !  "  he  added,  giving  a  jump  with  his 
two  stout  little  limbs.  "  And  never  to  have 
to  sit  up  straight,  except  for  fun  sometimes; 
and  no  boots  to  lace,  and  not  to  have  to 


172  HILDEGARDE'S    HOME. 

cut  up  your  dinner.     Oh !   it  would  be  such 
fun!" 

"  Yes,  and  never  to  be  able  to  change  your 
clothes  when  they  are  wet  or  muddy,'1  replied 
the  girl,  "  and  to  have  to  lie  on  the  floor" 
"  I  like  to  lie  on  the  floor/'  put  in  Hugh  - 
"  and   to  have  unnatural  people,   who  don't 
like  dogs,  say, ' There  !  there!  get  away,  dog! ' 
when  you  are  trying  to  make  yourself  agree- 
able." 

"  Yes,  that  is  badj  "  Hugh  admitted. 
"  Aunt  Loftus  beat  Merlin  yesterday  when 
he  hadn't  done  anything,  just  not  anything 
at  all.  Just  he  wagged  his  tail  to  tell  me 
something,  and  there  was  an  old  jug  in  the 
way,  and  it  fell  over  and  broke.  And  now 
he  isn't  to  come  into  the  house  any  more.  I 
felt  like  ( many  oxen  come  about  me.  fat  bulls 
of  Basan  compass  me  on  every  side,'  when 
she  glared  at  me  and  said  that." 

Hildegarde  turned  her  face  away,  and  was 
silent  for  a  minute. 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  173 

u  Merlin  is  your  dog  ? "  she  asked  pres- 
ently, with  a  suspicious  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  him  ?  "  cried  the 
lad  joyfully.  "  He  stayed  behind  with  a 
bone,  but  I'll  call  him."  He  gave  a  long,  clear 
whistle,  and  a  superb  collie  came  bounding 
down  the  avenue,  and  greeted  his  master 
with  violent  affection. 

"  Down,  Merlin  !  "  said  Hugh  Allen  gravely. 
"  This  is  the  Purple  Maid  I  told  you  about, 
but  nei  real  name  is  Hilda.  A  Purple  Maid 
was  what  I  called  you  when  I  saw  you  com- 
ing up  the  steps,"  he  explained,  turning  to 
Hildegarde.  "  I  didn't  know  any  other  name, 
you  see." 

-But  why  <  Purple  Maid'?"  asked  Hilde- 
garde, feeling  more  and  more  that  this  was 
a  very  queer  little  boy.  "  I  had  been  walk- 
ing fast,  but  was  I  actually  purple,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  boy.  u  It  wasn't  that 
at  all.  Your  cheeks  were  like  the  rosy  eve. 


174  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

But  '  purple '  has  a  nice  sound,  don't  you 
think  so  ?  a  kind  of  rich  sound.  Do  you 
mind  my  calling  you  a  Purple  Maid  ?  " 

Hildegarde  assured  him  that  she  did  not, 
and  then,  from  mere  idle  curiosity,  as  she 
afterwards  assured  herself,  she  added,  "  And 
what  do  you  call  your  cousin  Leonie  ?  " 

"  A  vinegar  cruet ! "  replied  Hugh  promptly. 
"  And  Aunt  Loftus  is  a  fat  —  " 

"  Oh,  hush  !  hush  !  my  dear  little  boy  !  " 
cried  Hildegarde  hastily.  "  You  must  not  say 
such  things  as  that." 

"  You  asked  me,"  replied  Hugh  simply. 
"  That  is  what  I  do  call  them  when  I  think 
about  them." 

"  But  it  is  not  nice  to  think  rude  and  unkind 
things,"  said  the  Purple  Maid,  reprovingly. 

"  Then  I  won't  think  about  them  at  all," 
said  the  boy.  "  For  they  really  are,  you 
know.  I'd  rather  think  of  you,  anyhow,  and 
mamma,  and  Merlin." 


••  HlLDEGARDE    HAD    BEEN    MAKIN(i    FRIENDS    WITH    MERLIN.' 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  177 

While  this  dialogue  was  going  on,  Hilde- 
garde  had  been  making  friends  with  Merlin, 
who  responded  with  cheerful  cordiality  to  her 
advances.  He  was  a  beautiful  creature,  of 
true  collie  brown,  with  a  black  nose,  and 
the  finest  white  waistcoat  in  the  world.  His 
eyes  were  wonderful,  clear,  deep,  and  intel- 
ligent, in  colour  "  like  mountain  water  when 
it's  flowing  o'er  a  rock." 

"  Dear  lad  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  taking  his 
black  paw  and  pressing  it  affectionately. 
"  I  know  you  are  as  good  as  you  are  hand- 
some. Will  you  be  my  friend,  too  ?  Hugh 
is  going  to  be  my  friend." 

"He  will!"  cried  Hugh  eagerly.  "We 
always  like  the  same  people,  and  almost 
always  the  same  things.  He  won't  eat  ap- 
ples, and  I  don't  chase  cats;  but  those  are 
nearly'  the  only  things  we  don't  like  to- 
gether." 

At  a  turn  in  the  road,  Hildegarde  saw  in 


178  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

the  distance  a  black  figure  walking  toward 
them. 

"  There  is  my  mother  dear!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  She  said  she  would  come  and 
meet  me.  Will  you  come  and  see  her, 
Hugh  ?  —  she  is  very  nice  !  "  she  added,  seeing 
that  the  boy  hung  back.  But  Hugh  studied 
his  boots  again  with  rapt  attention,  and  ap- 
parently read  in  them  a  summons  back  to  The 
Poplars. 

"I  think  I  have  to  go  back  !  "  he  said. 
"  I  love  you,  and  you  are  my  Purple  Maid. 
May  I  'come  to  see  you  once  ?  " 

"  You  may  come  fifty  times,  dear  little 
lad!"  cried  Hildegarde  warmly.  "Come  as 
often  as  you  like." 

But  Hugh  Allen  shook  his  head  sagely. 
u  Maybe  once  will  be  enough,"  he  said. 
u  Come,  Merlin!  Good-by,  Purple  Maid  !  " 
And  he  and  Merlin  disappeared  in  a  cloud 
of  legs  and  dust. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  179 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    COUSINS. 

HILDEGARDE  and  her  cousin  Jack  soon 
became  fast  friends.  His  fear  of  Mrs.  G-ra- 
hame  vanished  the  first  time  he  saw  her 
smile,  and  he  found,  to  his  great  amazement, 
that  a  girl  was  not  necessarily  either  "  dread- 
ful "  or  stupid ;  moreover,  that  a  girl's 
mother  might  be  a  very  delightful  person, 
instead  of  a  mixture  of  harpy  and  Gorgon. 
He  was  invited  to  come  to  tea  and  bring  his 
violin.  Colonel  Ferrers  was  invited,  too,  but 
promptly  declined. 

"A  fiddling  nephew,  dear  madam,"  he 
said,  u  is  a  dispensation  to  which  I  resign 
myself,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  him  fiddle. 


180  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Mrs.  Grahame  suggested  that  the  fiddle 
might  be  left  at  home. 

"  No,  no !  Let  him  bring  it !  by  all  means 
let  him  bring  it!  if  you  can  really  endure  it 
without  discomfort,  that  is.  It  will  be  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  the  lad,  who  is  a  good 
lad,  though  a  deplorable  milksop." 

So  Jack  came  with  the  precious  black  box 
under  his  arm.  Tea  was  set  out  on  the 
verandah,  a  symphony  in  white  and  gold,  — 
golden  croquettes,  butter,  honey,  snowy  rolls, 
and  cream  cheese,  —  and  Hildegarde  pouring 
the  tea,  in  white  with  gold-coloured  ribbons  at 
waist  and  throat. 

Jack  Ferrers  had  never  seen  anything  of 
this  sort.  "  Daddy  "  and  he  had  always  been 
together,  and  neither  of  them  had  ever  cared 
or  thought  how  anything  looked.  He  won- 
dered if  his  cousin  Hildegarde  was  very  frivo- 
lous. Girls  were,  of  course  :  and  yet  —  she 
was  certainly  very  pretty;  and,  if  she  really 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  181 

cared  for  music — and  then,  being  eighteen 
and  hungry,  he  gave  his  undivided  attention 
to  the  croquettes,  which  truly  deserved  it. 

And  after  tea,  when  they  had  sat  quiet  in 
the  twilight  for  a  little,  Hildegarde  said 
softly,  "Now,  Cousin  Jack!"  And  Jack 
took  his  violin  and  began  to  play. 

At  the  first  note  Mrs.  Grahame  laid  down 
her  knitting;  at  the  second,  she  and  Hilde- 
garde exchanged  glances ;  at  the  third,  they 
forgot  each  other  and  everything  else  save 
the  music.  First  came  a  few  simple  chords, 
melting  into  a  soft  harmony,  a  prelude  as 
low  and  sweet  as  the  notes  of  the  mother-bird 
brooding  over  her  nest ;  then,  suddenly,  from 
this  soft  cloud  of  peaceful  harmony  there 
leaped  a  wonderful  melody,  clear  and  keen  as 
the  same  bird's  song  at  daybreak, —  a  melody 
that  mounted  higher  and  higher,  soaring  as 
the  lark  breasts  the  blue  morning,  flight  upon 
flight  of  golden  notes  pouring  out  as  if  the 


182  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

violin  were  a  living  thing,  a  breathing,  .si 
ing  creature,  with  heart  and  soul  filled  and 
brimming  over  with  love  and  joy  and  beauty. 

On  and  on  the  boy  played,  while  the  two 
women  listened  spellbound,  feeling  that  this 
was  no  ordinary  playing;  and  as  he  played 
his  whole  aspect  seemed  to  change.  He 
straightened  himself  and  stood  erect,  save 
for  the  loving  bend  of  the  head  over  the 
beloved  instrument.  His  blue  eyes  flashed, 
his  whole  countenance  grew  luminous,  in- 
tense. The  gawky,  listless,  indolent  lad  was 
gone ;  and  one  saw  only  the  musician  rapt 
in  his  art. 

When  it  was  over,  they  were  all  silent  for 
a  moment.  Then  Mrs.  Grahame  held  out 
her  hand.  i:  My  dear  boy  !  "  she  said.  '•'  My 
dear  Jack,  you  ought  to  be  the  happiest 
fellow  in  the  world.  To  be  able  to  give  and 
to  enjoy  such  pleasure  as  this,  is  indeed  a 
great  privilege." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  183 

Hildegarde  could  only  look  her  thanks,  for 
the  music  had  moved  her  deeply ;  but  her 
smile  told  Jack  all  that  he  wanted  to  know, 
and  it  appeared  that  girls  were  not  all  frivo- 
lous ;  also  that  it  must  be  very  nice  to  have 
a  mother. 

Then  he  played  again.  Indeed,  they  left 
him  no  choice,  —  the  Mozart  concerto,  of 
which  he  .  had  spoken,  and  then  one  lovely 
thing  after  another,  barcarolle  and  serenade 
and  fairy  dance,  melting  finally  into  the  ex- 
quisite melody  of  an  old  Gaelic  lullaby. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  under  her  breath  ; 
and  then,  as  her  mother  bade  her,  she  sang 
softly  the  words  she  loved, — 

"Slumber  sweetly,  little  Donald." 

Such  a  happy  evening  it  was,  on  the  wide 
verandah,  with  the  moon  shining  down,  soft- 
ening everything  into  magical  wonders  of 
ivory  and  silver ! 

It  was  the  first  of  many  such  evenings,  for 


184  HILDEGAKDE'S   HOME. 

soon  Jack  came  to  spending  half  his  time  at 
Braeside.  At  nine  o'clock  Colonel  Ferrers 
would  come  striding  up  the  gravel  walk, 
swinging  his  big  stick ;  and  then  the  violin 
would  be  tenderly  laid  away,  and  half  an 
hour  of  pleasant  chat  would  follow,  after 
which  uncle  and  nephew  would  go  off  to- 
gether, and  the  last  the  two  ladies  heard  of 
them  would  be  passionate  adjurations  from 
the  former  to  "  step  out,"  and  not  to  "  poke 
your  head  forward  like  an  army  mule  follow- 
ing a  grain-cart,  sir!" 

One  day  the  two  cousins  were  taking  a 
walk  together.  At  least  they  had  been  walk- 
ing, and  now  had  sat  down  to  rest  on  the 
mossy  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  —  in  fact,  of  the 
same  great  sycamore  which  Hildegarde  had 
christened  Philemon,  on  the  memorable  day 
of  the  tree-climbing.  They  had  been  talking 
about  everything  and  nothing,  when  suddenly 
Jack  shook  his  head  and  began  earnestly, 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  185 

"  Did  your  mother  mean  that  the  other 
night?" 

Hildegarde  simply  looked  at  him,  and  raised 
her  eyebrows. 

"  I  mean  about  my  being  happy,"  the  boy 
continued.  "  Because  I'm  not  happy,  and  I 
never  expect  to  be." 

"What  is  it?"  Hildegarde  asked,  seeing 
that  a  confidence  was  coming. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that 
I  want,"  cried  the  boy,  "and  that  is  just 
what  I  cannot  have.  I  want  to  go  to  Leip- 
sic,  and  Uncle  Tom  won't  hear  of  it ;  calls  it 
nonsense,  and  is  going  to  send  me  to  Harvard. 
We  are  poor,  you  know  ;  Daddy  doesn't  know 
anything  about  money,  and  —  and  who  cares 
about  it,  anyhow,  except  for  —  for  things  one 
wants  ?  Uncle  Tom  says  I  can't  make  a  bow, 
and  —  oh,  all  kinds  of  rubbish!  What's  the 
use  of  making  a  bow  ?  I'm  not  going  to  be  a 
dancing-mast£r,  Hildegarde !  " 


186  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Indeed,  you  would  not  be  a  good  one  ! " 
his  cousin  said  ;  "  but,  considering  that  one 
must  make  bows,  Jack,  isn't  it  just  as  well  to 
do  it  well  as  to  do  it  badly  ?  " 

"  Who  cares  ?  "  cried  the  boy,  shaking  his 
head  wildly.  "  If  a  man  is  going  to  be  any- 
thing, who  cares  how  he  bows  ?  And  —  oh, 
of  course  that  is  one  item.  I  am  to  go  to 
Harvard,  and  learn  to  bow  and  to  dance,  and 
to  be  a  classical  scholar,  and  to  play  base-ball. 
I  hate  base-ball,  Hilda  !  it's  perfect  idiocy,  and 
it  makes  my  head  ache,  and  any  one  can  see 
that  I'm  not  cut  out  for  athletics.  Are  you 
laughing  at  me  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  am  not!"  said  Hildegarde, 
heartily.  "  But,  tell  me  !  you  want  to  go  to 
Leipsic,  to  study  music  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  And  Daddy 
wants  me  to  go,  and  Herr  Geigen  is  going  over 
in  the  autumn,  and  he  would  place  me,  and 
all ;  but  Uncle  Tom  hates  music,  you  know, 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME,  187 

and  if  I  speak  of  it  he  goes  off  in  a  rage,  and 
talks  about  rascally  Dutch  fiddlers,  and  says 
I  walk  like  a  giraffe  with  the  palsy.  At  least, 
that  was  the  animal  this  morning.  Yesterday 
I  was  a  gouty  ostrich,  and  I  suppose  we  shall 
go  through  the  whole  menagerie." 

"  You  like  him  ? "  Hildegarde  said  inter- 
rogatively. 

"He  is  very  kind,  in  his  way,"  replied 
Jack.  "  Awfully  kind,  and  he  loves  my 
father,  and  I  know  he  wants  to  do  things 
for  me  ;  but  —  it  all  has  to  be  done  in  his 
way,  don't  you  see  ?  And  —  well,  there  isn't 
anything  in  me  except  music.  I  know  that, 
you  see,  Hildegarde.  Just  nothing !  " 

"  I  don't  feel  so  sure  of  that !  "  Hildegarde 
said.  "  Perhaps  you  never  tried  to  develop 
the  other  side  of  you.  There  must  be  other 
sides,  you  know." 

"  No,  there  aren't !  "  said  Jack  positively. 
"None  at  alh!  " 


188  HILDEGA  ROE'S    HOME. 

"  But  that  is  nonsense  !  "  cried  Hildegarde 
impatiently.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
are  a  flat  surface,  like  a  playing-card,  with 
'  music  '  painted  on  you  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  flat !  "  rather  stiffly. 

"  You  see,  you  are  not !  then  why  not  try  to 
care  for  something  else  beside  music,  without 
caring  any  the  less  for  that  ?  " 

a  What  is  there  to  care  for  ?  a  parcel  of 
musty  old  books,  such  as  Uncle  Tom  is  for- 
ever reading." 

"  Oh !  oh  !  you  Goth  !  As  if  it  were  not  a 
rapture  simply  to  look  at  the  outside  of  your 
uncle's  books.  To  see  my  heart's  own  Doctor 
in  dark  blue  calf,  with  all  that  beautiful  tool- 
ing—" 

"  What  Doctor  ?  what  are  you  talking 
about,  Hildegarde?" 

u  Johnson,  of  course!  Is  there  another? 
as  the  man  in  Punch  says  about  his  hatter. 
And  even  in  your  own  line,  you  foolish  boy ! 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  189 

Have  you  never  read  that  beautiful  '  Life  of 
Handel '  ?  I  looked  into  it  the  other  day,  and 
it  seemed  delightful." 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  looking  blank.  "  Where 
is  it  ?  I  never  saw  it." 

"  Bookcase  between  the  south  windows, 
fourth  shelf,  about  the  middle  ;  three  fat  vol- 
umes in  green  morocco.  And  you  never  saw 
it,  because  you  never  look  at  the  books  at  all. 
What  do  you  look  at,  Jack,  except  your  music 
and  your  violin  ?  For  example,  do  you  ever 
look  in  the  glass?  I  know  you  don't." 

"How  do  you  know?"  and  Jack  blushed 
hotly. 

"Because  —  you  won't  mind?  I  am  your 
cousin,  you  know  !  —  because  your  necktie  is 
so  often  crooked.  It  is  crooked  now  ;  a  little 
more  to  the  right !  that's  it !  And  —  and  you 
ought  to  brush  that  spot  off  your  coat.  Now, 
if  you  made  it  a  point  always  to  look  in  the 
glass  before  leaving  your  room  —  " 


190  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Is  that  one  of  the  sides  you  want  me  to 
develop  ? "  asked  Jack  slowly.  "  Caring  about 
dress,  and  looks,  and  that  sort  of  thing  ?  I 
didn't  know  you  were  of  that  kind,  Hilde- 
garde." 

"  Of  what  kind  ?  "  cried  our  heroine,  blush- 
ing furiously  in  her  turn,  and  feeling  that  she 
was  in  great  danger  of  losing  her  temper. 
"  I  certainly  do  care  about  my  dress  and 
looks,  as  every  one  ought  to  do.  Suppose  the 
next  time  you  came  to  tea,  you  found  me  with 
my  hair  tumbling  down,  and  a  great  spot  of 
ink  on  my  gown,  and  my  ruffles  torn  !  Is 
that  the  kind  of  person  you  like  to  see  ?  I 
always  thought  Herrick's  Julia  was  a  most 
untidy  young  woman,  with  her  shoe-strings, 
and  her  '  erring  lace  '  and  all." 

"I  don't  know  who  she  is,"  said  Jack 
meekly.  "  But  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  was 
rude,  Hilda ;  and  —  and  I  will  try  to  '  spruce 
up/  as  Uncle  Tom  is  always  trying  to  make 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  191 

me.  You  see,"  he  added  shyly,  "  when  you 
look  in  the  glass  you  see  something  nice,  and 
I  don't ! " 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  Hildegarde,  promptly. 
"And  then,  Jack  —  that  is  only  one  thing,  of 
course.  But  if  you  had  the  habit  of  using 
your  eyes !  Oh !  you  don't  know  what  a 
difference  it  would  make.  I  know,  because 
I  used  to  be  as  blind  as  you  are.  I  never 
looked  at  anything  till  about  two  years  ago. 
And  now  —  of  course  I  am  only  learning 
still,  and  shall  be  learning  all  my  life,  I  hope ; 
but  —  well,  I  do  see  things  more  or  less.  For 
example,  what  do  you  see  at  our  feet  here  ? " 

"  Grass !  "  said  Jack,  peering  about. 
"  Green  grass.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know 
that  ?  " 

Hildegarde  laughed,  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"Just  what  I  should  have  said  two  years 
ago  !  "  she  cried.  "  There  are  twelve  differ- 
ent plants  that  I  know  —  I've  been  counting 


192  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

them  —  and  several   more  that  are  new  to 


me." 


"  Well,  they're  all  green,  anyhow !  "  said 
Jack.  "  What's  the  difference  ?  " 

Hildegarde  scorned  a  direct  reply,  but  went 
on,  being  now  mounted  on  her  own  hobby. 

"And  as  for  moths,  Jack,  you  can  have 
no  idea  of  what  my  ignorance  was  in  regard 
to  moths." 

"  Oh,  come  !  "  said  Jack.  "  Every  one 
knows  about  moths,  of  course.  They  eat  our 
clothes,  and  fly  into  the  lamps.  That  is  one 
of  the  things  one  finds  out  when  one  is  a 
baby,  I  suppose." 

"  Indeed  !  "  cried  Hildegarde.  «  And  that 
is  all  there  is  to  find  out,  I  suppose.  Why  —  " 
she  stopped  suddenly ;  then  said  in  a  very 
different  tone,  "  Oh,  Jack !  this  is  a  wonder- 
ful coincidence.  Look!  oh,  will  you  look? 
oh !  the  beautiful,  beautiful  dear !  Get  me 
something  !  anything  !  quick  !  " 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  193 

• 

Jack,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  feminine 
ways,  wondered  if  his  fair  cousin  was  going 
out  of  her  mind.  She  was  gazing  intently  at 
a  spot  of  lighter  green  on  the  "  grass  "  at  her 
feet.  Presently  the  spot  moved,  spread ;  de- 
veloped two  great  wings,  delicate,  exquisite, 
in  colour  like  a  chrysoprase,  or  the  pure,  cold 
green  one  sometimes  sees  in  a  winter  sunset. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Jack,  in  wonder. 

"  A  Luna  !  "  cried  Hildegarde.  "  Hush  ! 
slip  off  on  the  other  side,  quietly  !  Fly  tc 
the  house,  and  ask  auntie  for  a  fly-screen. 
Quick,  Jack !  " 

Jack,  greatly  wondering,  ran  off  none  the 
less,  his  long  legs  scampering  with  irreverent 
haste  through  the  Ladies'  Garden.  Returning 
with  the  screen,  which  auntie  gave  him  with- 
out question,  being  well  used  to  the  sudden 
frenzies  of  a  moth-collector,  he  found  Hilde- 
garde on  her  knees,  holding  her  handkerchief 
over  the  great  moth,  which  fortunately  had 


194  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

• 
remained  quiet,  being  indeed   stupid   in  the 

strong  light.  The  girl's  face  was  all  aglow 
with  triumph  and  delight. 

"A  perfect  specimen,"  she  cried,  as  she 
skilfully  conveyed  the  great  moth  under  the 
screen.  "I  have  two,  but  the  tails  are  a 
little  broken.  Isn't  he  glorious,  Jack  ?  Oh, 
happy  day  !  Come,  good  cousin,  and  let  us 
take  him  home  in  a  triumphal  procession." 

Jack  looked  rather  blank.  "Are  you  going 
home  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Of  course, v  to  put  my  beauty  in  the 
ammonia  jar." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  added,  seeing  that  her 
cousin  looked  really  vexed. 

"  Oh  —  nothing  !  "  said  Jack.  "  Nothing 
of  any  consequence.  I  am  ready." 

"But  what  is  it?"  Hildegarde  repeated. 
"  You  would  a  great  deal  better  tell  me  than 
look  like  that,  for  I  know  I  have  done  some- 
thing to  vex  you." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  195 

"Well  —  I  am  not  used  to  girls,  you  know, 
Hildegarde,  and  perhaps  I  am  stupid.  Only 
—  well,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  seriously 
what  you  thought  about  —  my  music,  and  all 
that ;  and  first  you  tell  me  to  look  in  the 
glass,  and  then  you  go  to  catching  moths  and 
forget  all  about  me.  I  suppose  it's  all  right, 
only-" 

He  blushed,  and  evidently  did  not  think  it 
was  all  right.  Hildegarde  blushed,  too,  in 
real  distress. 

"My  dear  Jack,"  she  cried,  "how  shall  I 
tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  ?  " 

She  looked  about  for  a  suitable  place,  and 
then  carefully  set  down  the  fly-screen  with 
its  precious  contents. 

"  Sit  down  again,"  she  cried,  motioning 
her  cousin  to  take  his  place  on  the  fallen 
tree,  while  she  did  the  same.  "And  you  will 
not  believe  now  how  interested  I  really  am," 
she  said.  "  Mamma  would  never  have  been 


196  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

so  stupid,  nor  Rose  either.  But  you  must 
believe  me.  I  was  thinking  about  you  till  — 
till  I  saw  the  Lima,  and  you  don't  know 
what  a  Luna  means  when  one  hasn't  a  per- 
fect specimen.  But  now,  tell  me,  do  you 
think  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  persuade 
your  uncle  ?  Why,  you  must  go  to  Leipsic, 
of  course  you  must.  He  —  has  he  ever  heard 
you  play,  Jack  ?  " 

Jack  laughed  rather  bitterly.  "  Once/'  he 
said.  "  He  cried  out  that  when  he  wanted 
to  listen  to  cats  with  their  tails  tied  together, 
he  would  tie  them  himself.  Since  then  I 
always  go  up  into  the  garret  to  practise,  and 
shut  all  the  doors  and  windows." 

"  What  a  pity !  and  he  is  so  nice  when  one 
knows  him.  I  wonder  —  do  you  know,  Jack, 
what  I  am  thinking  of  ?  " 

Her  face  was  so  bright  that  the  boy's  face 
brightened  as  he  looked  at  it. 

"  I  hope  it  is  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  he 
said;  "but  I  didn't  dare  —  " 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  197 

"  Mamma/'  cried  Hildegarde. 

He  nodded  in  delight,  colouring  with 
pleasure. 

"  She  is  just  the  person." 

"  Of  course  she  is  ;  but  will  she  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  will.  I  am  sure  of  it. 
Your  uncle  shall  come  to  tea  some  evening, 
and  you  shall  stay  at  home.  I  will  go  away 
to  write  letters,  and  then  —  oh,  you  see, 
Jack,  no  one  can  resist  mamma." 

"  What  a  good  fellow  you  are,  Hildegarde ! 
Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  ! " 

"Nevermind!"  cried  Hildegarde  merrily. 
"I  did  climb  the  tree,  you  know.  And  now, 
come  along.  I  must  take  my  beauty,  my 
love,  my  moonlight  rapture,  up  to  his  death." 


198  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BONNY   SIR   HUGH. 

MEANWHILE  Hildegarde  had  not  lost  sight 
of  little  Hugh  Allen,  the  one  link  of  interest 
which  connected  her  with  The  Poplars.  He, 
too,  had  been  won  by  Mrs.  Grahame's  smile, 
and  had  learned  the  way  to  Braeside ;  and 
the  more  they  saw  of  him,  the  more  Hilde- 
garde and  her  mother  felt  that  he  was  a 
very  remarkable  little  boy. 

Much  of  the  time  he  seemed  to  be  lost  in 
dreams,  wrapped  in  a  cloud  of  silent  thought; 
and,  again,  from  this  cloud  would  flash  out 
the  quaintest  sayings,  sudden  outbursts  of 
passionate  feeling,  which  were  startling  to 
quiet,  e very-day  people.  When  he  had  been 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  199 

walking  with  Mrs.  Grahame,  as  he  was  fond 
of  doing  (sneaking  out  by  the  back  gate  from 
his  prison-place,  as  he  called  it,  and  making  a 
detour  to  reach  the  road  where  she  most 
often  walked),  and  when  she  said,  "  Now, 
dear,  it  is  time  to  say  good-by,  and  go  home," 
he  would  throw  himself  on  his  knees,  and 
hold  up  his  clasped  hands,  crying,  "  How  can 
I  leave  thee?"  in  a  manner  which  positively 
embarrassed  her. 

Now  it  happened  one  day  that  Hugh  was 
sitting  with  Merlin  beside  the  brook  that 
flowed  at  the  foot  of  the  Ladies'  Garden. 
Hildegarde  had  told  him  to  come  through 
the  garden  and  wait  for  her,  and  it  was  his 
first  visit  to  the  lovely,  silent  place.  The 
child  went  dreaming  along  between  the  high 
box  hedges,  stopping  occasionally  to  look 
about  him  and  to  exchange  confidences  with 
his  dog.  Merlin  seemed  to  feel  the  influence 
of  the  place,  and  went  along  quietly,  with 


200  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

bent  head  and  drooping  tail.  When  the 
murmur  of  the  hidden  streamlet  first  fell 
upon  his  ear,  "  It  is  like  the  fishpools  of 
Heshbon,"  said  the  boy  dreamily.  "  Isn't 
it,  Merlin?  I  never  understood  before." 
Merlin  put  his  cool  black  nose  in  his  master's 
hand,  and  gave  a  little  sympathetic  shake. 

And  now  the  pair  were  sitting  on  a  bank  of 
moss,  looking  down  into  the  dark,  clear  water, 
which  moved  so  swiftly  yet  so  silently,  with 
only  a  faint  sound,  which  somehow7  seemed  no 
louder  than  when  they  were  at  a  distance. 

"  Do  you  see  that  dark  round  place  where 
it  is  deep.  Merlin  ? "  said  the  child.  "  Do. 
you  think  that  under  there  lives  a  fair  woman 
with  green  hair,  who  takes  a  person  by  the 
hand,  and  kisses  him,  and  pulls  him  down  ? 
Do  you  think  that.  Merlin?"  But  Merlin 
sneezed,  and  shook  his  head,  and  evidently 
thought  nothing  of  the  kind.  "  Then  do  you 
think  about  fishes?"  the  boy  went  on. 


HlLDEGARDE    FINDING    Ht'GH    AND    MERLIN    BY    THE    BROOK. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  203 

"  Dark  little  fishes,  with  gleaming  eyes,  who 
are  sad  because  they  cannot  speak.  I  wish  I 
knew  your  thoughts,  Merlin." 

"  Wuff !  "  said  Merlin,  in  his  voice  of  wel- 
come, raising  his  head,  and  becoming  in- 
stantly a  living  image  of  cheerfulness.  Hugh 
looked,  and  there  was  his  Purple  Maid,  all 
bright  and  shining,  standing  among  the  green 
trees,  and  smiling  at  him.  The  child's  face 
flushed  with  such  vivid  light  that  the  place 
seemed  brighter.  He  held  out  his  arms  with 
a  passionate  gesture  that  would  have  been 
theatrical  if  it  had  not  been  so  real,  but  re- 
mained silent. 

"  Dear  !  "  said  Hildegarde.  "  How  quiet 
you  are,  you  and  Merlin!  I  could  not  tell 
whether  it  was  your  voice  or  the  brook,  talk- 
ing." The  boy  and  dog  made  room  for  her 
between  them,  and  she  sat  down.  "Aren't 
you  going  to  speak  to  me,  Hugh  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued, as  he  still  said  nothing. 


204  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"  I  spoke  to  myself,"  said  the  boy.  "  When 
I  saw  you  stand  there,  angelic,  in  the  green, 
'  Blessed  heart  of  woman  ! '  I  said  to  myself. 
Do  you  like  the  sound  of  that  ?  " 

"  My  bonny  Sir  Hugh  !  "  said  Hildegarde, 
laying  her  hand  caressingly  on  the  red-gold 
hair.  "  I  do  like  the  sound  of  it.  And  do 
you  like  this  place  ?  I  want  you  to  care  for 
it  as  I  do." 

The  boy  nodded.  "  It  is  the  place  of  dead 
people,"  he  said.  "We  are  too  alive  to  be 
here." 

"I  call  it  the  Ladies'  Garden,"  said  Hilde- 
garde softly.  "  Fair,  sweet  ladies  lived  here 
once,  and  loved  it.  They  used  to  sit  here, 
Hugh,  and  wander  up  and  down  the  green 
paths,  and  fill  the  place  with  sweet,  gentle 
words.  I  don't  believe  they  sang ;  Hester 
may  have  sung,  perhaps." 

"  Were  they  fair  as  the  moon,  clear  as  the 
sun  ?  "  asked  the  child. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  205 

"Where  did  you  find  those  sweet  words, 
Sir  Hugh?" 

"  In  the  Bible.  '  Fair  as  the  moon,  clear  as 
the  sun,  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners.' 
And  '  thy  neck  is  a  tower  of  ivory;  Were 
they  terrible,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  they  were  very  gentle,  I  think, 
very  soft  and  mild,  like  folds  of  old  soft  cash- 
mere ;  only  Hester  was  blithe  and  gay,  and 
she  died,  Hugh,  when  she  was  just  my  age. 
Think  of  it !  to  die  so  young  and  go  away 
out  of  all  the  sunshine." 

The  child  looked  at  her  with  strange  eyes. 
"  Why  do  you  be  sad  ?  "  he  said.  "  Don't  you 
know  afyout  your  Mother  dear  Jerusalem  ?  " 

"A  little,"  said  Hildegarde.  "Tell  me 
what  you  are  thinking,  Sir  Hugh." 

"It  is  greener  there,"  said  the  child,  "and 
brighter.  Don't  you  know,  blessed  heart  ? 
6  Where  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 
as  nowhere  else  are  seen.'  And  more  coloured 


206  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

words.  Don't  you  love  coloured  words?" 
The  girl  laid  her  hand  on  his  lightly,  but 
said  nothing,  and  he  went  on  as  if  in  a 
drearn. 

" ( Thy  houses  are  of  ivory, 

Thy  windows  crystal  clear, 
Thy  streets  are  laid  with  beaten  gold  — 
There  angels  do  appear.' 

"  Two  of  them  are  papa  and  mamma/'  he 
added  after  a  pause.  "  Do  you  think  they 
mind  waiting  for  me  very  much  ?  At  first  I 
wanted  to  go  to  them  —  oh,  so  badly !  be- 
cause those  people  are  devils,  and  I  would 
rather  die;  but  now  I  have  you,  Purple 
Maid,  and  your  mother  is  like  balm  dropping 
in  the  valley,  and  I  don't  mind  waiting,  if 
only  I  thought  they  didn't  mind  it  too  much." 
He  looked  up  wistfully,  and  Hildegarde  bent 
to  kiss  him. 

"How  long  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked  softly. 

"  A  year  now,  a  very  long  year,  only  I  had 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  207 

Merlin.  And  Uncle  Loftus  took  me  out  of 
charity,  he  said;  but  mamma  said  I  was  to 
go  to  Aunt  Martha,  so  that  makes  me  feel 
wrong,  even  if  I  wanted  to  stay  with  them, 
and  it  is  the  pains  of  hell  to  me." 

"Aunt  Martha?"  asked  Hildegarde,  will- 
ing to  ask  more,  yet  dreading  to  rouse  the 
boy's  scriptural  eloquence  on  the  subject  of 
his  relatives  at  The  Poplars. 

Hugh  nodded.  "  Mamma's  aunt,"  he  said. 
"  She  lives  somewhere,  not  far  from  here,  but 
I  don't  know  where  ;  and  Uncle  Loftus  won't 
tell  me,  or  let  me  see  her,  'cause  she  is  a  me- 
nial. What  is  a  menial,  dearly  beloved  ? " 

"Did  your  uncle  say  that  to  you  ?"  Hilde- 
garde asked,  waiving  the  question. 

"He  said  it  at  me!  "  was  the  reply.  "At 
my  back,  but  I  heard  it.  She  was  a  menial, 
and  he  wasn't  going  to  have  folks  saying  that 
his  aunt  was  housekeeper  to  a  stuck-up  old 
bear,  just  because  she  was  a  fool  and  had  no 


208  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

proper  spirit.  And  the  others  said  fc  hush !  ' 
and  I  went  away,  and  now  they  won't  let  me 
speak  about  her." 

"Housekeeper  to  a  —  why!"  began  Hil- 
degarde ;  and  then  she  was  silent,  and 
smoothed  the  child's  hair  thoughtfully.  An 
old  bear !  that  was  what  Mr.  Loftus  had 
vulgarly  called  Colonel  Ferrers.  Could  it  be 
possible  that  —  Jack  had  told  her  about  dear, 
good  Mrs.  Beadle,  who  had  been  nurse  to  his 
father  and  uncle,  and  who  was  so  devoted  to 
them  all,  and  such  a  superior  woman.  She 
had  been  meaning  to  go  to  see  her  the  next 
time  she  was  at  Roseholme.  Was  there  a 
mystery  here  ?  was  Mrs.  Beadle  the  plump 
and  comfortable  skeleton  in  the  Loftus  closet  ? 
She  must  ask  Jack. 

As  she  mused  thus,  the  child  had  fallen 
a-dreaming  again,  and  they  both  sat  for  some 
time  silent,  with  the  soft  falling  of  the  water 
in  their  ears,  and  all  the  dim,  shadowy 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  209 

beauty  of  the  place  filling  their  hearts  with 
vague  delight. 

Presently,  "Beloved/'  said  Hugh  (he  wa- 
vered between  this  and  "Purple  Maid"  as 
names  for  Hildegarde,  wholly  ignoring  her 
own  name),  "  Beloved,  there  is  an  angel  near 
me.  Did  you  know  it  ? " 

"  There  might  well  be  angels  in  this  place/' 
said  Hildegarde,  looking  at  the  boy,  whose 
wide  blue  eyes  wore  a  far-away,  spiritual  look. 

"  I  don't  mean  just  here  in  this  spot.  I 
mean  floating  through  the  air  at  night.  I 
hear  him,  almost  every  night,  playing  on  his 
harp  of  gold." 

"  Dear  Hugh,  tell  me  a  little  more  clearly." 

"  Sometimes  the  moon  shines  in  at  my  win- 
dow and  wakes  me  up,  you  know.  Then  I 
get  up  and  look  out,  for  it  is  so  like  heaven, 
only  silver  instead  of  gold  ;  and  then  —  then 
I  hear  the  angel  play." 

"  What  does  it  sound  like  ?  " 


210  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Sometimes  like  a  voice,  sometimes  like 
birds.  And  then  it  sobs  and  cries,  and  dies 
away,  and  then  it  sounds  out  again,  like 
'  blow  up  the  trumpet  in  the  new  moon,'  and 
goes  up,  up,  up,  oh,  so  high !  Do  you  think 
that  is  when  the  angel  goes  up  to  the  gate, 
and  then  is  sorry  for  people  here,  and  comes 
back  again  ?  I  have  thought  of  that." 

"  My  bonny  Sir  Hugh!"  said  Hildegarde 
gently.  "  Would  you  care  less  about  the  lovely 
music  if  it  was  not  really  made  by  an  angel? 
if  it  was  a  person  like  you  and  me,  who  had 
the  power  and  the  love  to  make  such  beauti- 
ful sounds?" 

The  child's  face  lightened.  "  Was  it  you  ?  " 
he  said  in  an  awe-struck  voice. 

"  Not  I,  dear,  but  my  cousin,  my  cousin 
Jack,  who  plays  the  violin  most  beautifully, 
Hugh.  He  practises  every  night,  up  in  the 
garret  at  Roseholme,  because — only  think! 
his  uncle  does  not  like  to  hear  him." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  211 

"The  ostrich  gentleman!"  cried  Hugh, 
bursting  into  merry  laughter.  "  Is  it  the 
ostrich  gentleman?" 

Hildegarde  tried  to  look  grave,  with  mod- 
erate success.  "My  cousin  is  tall,"  she  said, 
u  but  you  must  not  call  names,  little  lad  !  " 

"  Never  any  more  will  I  call  him  it,"  cried 
Hugh,  "  if  he  is  really  the  angel.  But  he 
does  look  like  one.  Must  we  go  ?  "  he  asked 
wistfully,  as  Hildegarde  rose,  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  am  going  to  the  village,  you 
know.  I  thought  we  would  come  this  way 
because  I  wanted  you  to  see  the  Ladies' 
Garden.  Now  we  must  go  across  the 
meadow,  and  round  by  the  back  of  Rose- 
holme  to  find  the  road  again." 

They  crossed  the  brook  by  some  mossy 
stepping-stones,  and  climbed  the  dark  slope 
on  the  further  side,  thick-set  with  ferns  and 
dusky  hemlock-trees.  Then  came  the  wall, 


212  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

and  then  the  sudden  break  into  the  sunny 
meadow.  Hugh  threw  off  his  grave  mood 
with  the  shadow,  and  danced  and  leaped  in 
the  sunshine. 

"Shall  I  run  with  Merlin?"  he  asked. 
"  You  have  never  seen  us  run,  Beloved  !  " 

Hildegarde  nodded,  and  with  a  shout  and  a 
bark  the  two  were  off.  A  pretty  sight  they 
were  !  the  boy's  golden  head  bobbing  up  and 
down  in  full  energy  of  running,  the  dog 
bounding  beside  him  with  long,  graceful 
leaps.  They  breasted  the  long,  low  hill,  then 
swept  round  in  a  wide  circle,  and  came  rush- 
ing past  Hildegarde,  breathless  and  radiant. 
This  was  more  than  our  heroine  could  bear. 
With  a  merry  "  Hark,  follow !  "  she  started 
in  pursuit,  and  was  soon  running  abreast  of 
the  others,  with  head  thrown  back,  eyes 
sparkling,  cheeks  glowing. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Hugh. 

"Hurrah  it  is !  "  echoed  the  Purple  Maid. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  213 

"  Wow,  wow!"  panted  Merlin,  ecstatically. 

As  the  chase  swept  round  the  hill  the 
second  time,  two  gentlemen  came  out  of  the 
woods,  and  paused  in  amazement  at  the  sight. 
Hildegarde's  long  hair  had  come  down,  and 
was  flying  in  the  wind ;  her  two  companions 
were  frantic  with  delight,  and  bobbed  and 
leaped,  shouting,  beside  her.  So  brignt  was 
the  sunshine,  so  vivid  in  colour,  so  full  of  life 
the  three  runners,  they  seemed  actually  to 
flash  as  they  moved. 

"Harry  Monmouth!"  cried  Colonel  Ferrers. 
"Here  is  a  girl  who  knows  how  to  run.  Look 
at  that  action  !  It's  poetry,  sir  !  it's  rhythm 
and  metre  and  melody. 

" '  Nor  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 
Along  the  smooth  lake's  airy  rim.' 

After  her,  Master  Milksop,   and   let  me  see 
what  your  long  legs  can  do  !  " 

Jack  Ferrers  needed  no  second  bidding, 
and  though  his  running  was  not  graceful, 


214  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

being  rather  a  hurling  himself  forward,  as  if 
he  were  catapult  and  missile  in  one,  he  got 
over  the  ground  with  great  rapidity,  and 
caught  his  cousin  up  as  she  came  flying  round 
the  meadow  for  the  third  time.  Hildegarde 
stopped  short,  in  great  confusion. 

"  Jack  !  "  she  faltered,  panting.  "  How  — 
where  did  you  come  from?  You  must  have 
started  up  out  of  the  earth." 

Turning  to  capture  her  flying  tresses,  she 
caught  sight  of  Colonel  Ferrers,  and  her  con- 
fusion was  redoubled. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  the  crimson  mounting 
from  her  cheeks  to  her  forehead,  bathing  her 
in  a  fiery  tide.  "  Oh  !  how  could  you  ?  He 
—  he  will  be  sure  I  am  a  tomboy  now." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  my  fair  Atalanta  !  " 
exclaimed  the  Colonel,  who  had  the  ears  of 
a  fox.  He  advanced,  beaming,  and  flourish- 
ing his  stick.  "  No  thing  of  the  kind!"  he 
repeated.  "  He  is  delighted,  on  the  contrary, 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  216 

to  see  a  young  creature  who  can  make  the 
free  movements  of  nature  with  nature's  grace 
and  activity.     Harry  Monmouth !  Miss  Hilde-' 
garde,  I  wish  I  were  twenty  years  younger, 
and  I  would  challenge  you  to  a  race  myself!" 


216  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

A    CALL    AND    A    CONSPIRACY. 

"AND  you  really  seriously  intend  passing 
the  winter  here  ?  "  asked  Miss  Leonie  Loftus. 

This  young  lady  had  come  to  make  a  part- 
ing call  at  Braeside.  It  was  near  the  end  of 
August,  and  three  months  of  country  life 
were  all  that  she  could  possibly  endure,  and 
she  was  going  with  her  mother  to  Long 
Branch,  and  thence  to  Saratoga. 

"  You  really  mean  it?"  she  repeated,  look- 
ing incredulous. 

"Assuredly!"  replied  Hildegarde,  smiling. 
"  Winter  and  summer,  and  winter  again,  Miss 
Loftus.  This  is  our  home  now,  and  we  have 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  217 

become  attached  to  it  even  in  these  few 
months." 

"  Oh,  you  look  at  it  in  a  sentimental  light," 
said  Miss  Loftus,  with  a  disagreeable  smile. 
"  The  domestic  hearth,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
Rather  old-fashioned,  isn't  it?  Miss  Grahame  ?  " 

"  Possibly ;  I  have  never  thought  of  it  as  a 
matter  of  fashion,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  And  how  do  you  expect  to  kill  time  in 
your  wilderness  ?  "  was  the  next  question. 

"Kill  him?"  Hildegarde  laughed.  "We 
never  can  catch  him,  even  for  a  moment, 
Miss  Loftus.  He  flies  faster  at  Braeside  than 
even  in  New  York.  I  sometimes  think  there 
are  only  two  days  in  the  week,  Monday  and 
Saturday." 

"  I  hear  you  have  a  sewing-school  in  the  vil- 
lage. I  suppose  that  will  take  up  some  time." 

"  I  hope  so !  The  children  seem  inter- 
ested, and  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  me.  Then, 
too,  I  expect  to  join  some  of  Miss  Wayland's 


218  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

classes  in  the  fall,  and  that  will  keep  me 
busy,  of  course." 

"  Miss  Wayland,  over  in  Dorset  ?  Why,  it 
is  three  miles  off." 

"  And  even  if  so  ?  I  hear  it  is  a  delightful 
school,  and  Miss  Wayland  herself  is  very 
lovely.  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  No ! "  said  Miss  Loftus,  who  had  been 
"  dying "  as  she  would  have  put  it,  to  get 
into  Miss  Wayland' s  school  three  years  before. 
"  A  country  boarding-school  isn't  my  idea  of 
education." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hildegarde  civilly.  "  But  to 
go  back  for  a  moment,  Miss  Loftus.  Your 
speaking  of  the  children  reminds  me  to  ask 
you,  is  little  Hugh  going  with  you  to  Long 
Branch?" 

Miss  Loftus  coloured.  "  Oh,  dear,  no  !  "  she 
replied.  "A  child  at  such  places,  you  know, 
is  out  of  the  question.  He  is  to  be  sent  to 
school.  He  is  going  next  week." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  219 

"But —  pardon  me  !  are  not  all  schools  in 
vacation  now  ?" 

"  I  believe  so  !  But  these  people  —  the 
Miss  Hardbacks  —  are  willing  to  take  him 
now,  and  keep  him." 

"Poor  little  lad!"  murmured  Hildegarde, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  it  was  none  of  her 
business.  "  Will  he  not  be  very  lonely  ?  " 

"  Beggars  must  not  be  choosers,  Miss  Gra- 
hame  !  "  was  the  reply,  with  another  unamia- 
ble  smile.  Miss  Loftus  really  would  not  have 
smiled  at  all,  if  she  had  known  how  she 
looked.  • 

No  sooner  was  the  visitor  gone,  than  Hilde- 
garde flew  up  to  her  mother  with  the  news. 
The  Loftuses  were  going  away  ;  they  were 
going  to  send  Hugh  to  school.  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  He  could  not  go  !  He  should  not 
go. 

She  was  greatly  excited,  but  Mrs.  Grahame's 
quiet  voice  and  words  restored  her  composure. 


220  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

" '  Can't '  and  '  shan't '  never  won  a  battle  !  " 
said  that  lady.  "  We  must  think  and 
plan." 

Hildegarde  had  lately  discovered,  beyond 
peradventure,  from  some  chance  words  let 
fall  by  little  Hugh,  that  his  mother  had  been 
the  sister  of  Mr.  Loftus ;  and  she  felt  no  doubt 
in  her  own  mind  that  good  Mrs.  Beadle  was 
aunt  to  both.  The  sister  had  been  a  school 
teacher,  had  married  a  man  of  some  educa- 
tion, who  died  during  the  second  year  of  their 
marriage,  leaving  her  alone,  in  a  Western 
town,  with  her  little  baby.  She  had  strug- 
gled on,  not  wishing  to  be  a  burden  either  on 
her  rich  brother  (who  had  not  approved  her 
marriage)  or  her  aunt,  who  had  nothing  but 
her  savings  and  her  comfortable  berth  at 
Roseholme.  At  length,  consumption  laying 
its  deadly  hand  on  her,  she  sent  for  her 
brother,  and  begged  him  to  take  the  boy  to 
their  good  aunt,  who,  she  knew,  would  care 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  221 

for  him  as  her  own.  "  But  he  didn't !  "  said 
Hugh.  "  He  did  not  do  that.  He  said  he 
would  make  a  man  of  me,  but  I  don't  believe 
he  could  make  a  very  good  one,  do  you, 
Beloved?" 

Now  the  question  was,  how  to  bring  about 
a  meeting  between  the  boy  and  his  great- 
aunt,  if  great-aunt  she  were. 

No  child  was  allowed  to  enter  the  sacred 
precincts  of  Roseholme,  for  Colonel  Ferrers 
regarded  children,  and  especially  boys,  as  the 
fountain-head  of  all  mischief,  flower-break- 
ing, bird-nesting,  turf -destroy  ing.  His  own 
nephew  had  had  to  wait  eighteen  years  for  an 
invitation.  How  could  it  be  possible  to  intro- 
duce little  Hugh,  a  boy  and  a  stranger,  into 
the  charmed  garden  ? 

If  "  Mammina  "  could  only  take  him  !  No 
one  could  resist  her  mother,  Hildegarde 
thought;  certainly  not  Colonel  Ferrers,  who 
admired  her  so  much.  But  this  dear  mother 


222  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

had  sprained  her  ankle  a  week  before,  slip- 
ping on  a  mossy  stone  in  the  garden,  and 
was  only  now  beginning  to  get  about,  using  a 
crutched  stick. 

Mrs.  Grahame  and  Hildegarde  put  their 
heads  together,  and  talked  long  and  earnestly. 
Then  they  sent  for  Jack,  and  took  counsel 
with  him ;  and  a  plan  was  made  for  the  first 
act  of  what  Hildegarde  called  the  Drama  of 
the  Conspirators. 

A  day  or  two  after,  when  Mrs.  Beadle  drove 
to  the  town  of  Whitfield,  some  miles  off,  on 
her  weekly  marketing  trip,  it  was  Jack  Fer- 
rers, instead  of  Giuseppe,  the  faithful  man- 
servant, who  held  the  reins  and  drove  the 
yellow  wagon  with  the  stout  brown  cob.  He 
wanted  to  buy  some  things,  he  said :  a  neck- 
tie, and  some  chocolate,  and  —  oh,  lots  of 
things  ;  and  Mrs.  Beadle  was  only  too  glad 
of  his  company.  The  good  housekeeper  was 
dressed,  like  Villikins'  Dinah,  in  gorgeous 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  223 

array,  her  cashmere  shawl  being  of  the  finest 
scarlet,  her  gown  of  a  brilliant  blue,  while 
her  bonnet  nodded  with  blue  and  yellow  corn- 
flowers. Not  a  tradesman  in  Whitfield  but 
came  smiling  to  his  door  when  he  saw  Mrs. 
Beadle's  yellow  cart ;  for  she  was  a  good 
customer,  and  wanted  everything  of  the  best 
for  her  Colonel.  When  they  at  last  turned 
Chow-chow's  head  homeward,  the  wagon  was 
nearly  filled  with  brown-paper  parcels,  and 
Jack's  pockets  bulged  out  in  all  directions. 
As  they  drove  along  the  pleasant  road,  fringed 
with  oaks  and  beeches,  Jack  broke  silence 
with,  "  Biddy,  did  you  ever  have  any  chil- 
dren?" 

"  Bless  me,  Master  Jack,  how  you  startled 
me!  "^cried  Mrs.  Beadle,  who  was  deep  in 
a  problem  of  jelly  and  roly-poly  pudding. 
"No,  dear  !  no  jelly  —  I  should  say,  no  chick 
nor  child  had  I  ever.  I  wasn't  good  enough, 
I  suppose." 


224  HILDEGARDE'S    HOME. 

"  Nonsense,  Biddy  ! "  said  Jack.  "  But  you 
must  have  had  some  relations  ;  some  —  nieces 
or  nephews,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

Mrs.  Beadle  sighed,  and  fell  straightway 
into  the  trap. 

"  I  had,  dear !  I  had,  indeed,  once  upon  a 
time.  But  they're  no  good  to  me  now,  and 
never  will  be." 

She  sighed  again. 

"  How  no  good  to  you  ?  "  queried  this  art- 
ful Jack. 

"  Oh,  'tis  a  long  story,  dear,  and  you 
wouldn't  care  for  it  at  all.  You  would  ? 
Well !  well !  there's  no  harm  that  I  know  of 
in  speaking  of  it.  I've  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of.  I  had  a  niece,  Master  Jack,  and  a  dearer 
one  never  was,  nor  married  to  a  finer-  young 
man.  But  they  went  out  West,  and  he  died, 
and  left  her  with  a  baby.  I  wrote  again  and 
again,  begging  her  to  come  home,  but  she 
was  doing  well,  she  said,  and  felt  to  stay,  and 


HTLDEGARDE'S   HOME.  225 

had  friends  there,  and  all.  Oh,  dear  !  and  last 
year  —  a  year  ago  it  is  now,  she  died."  Mrs. 
Beadle  drew  out  a  handkerchief  and  wiped 
her  eyes.  "  She  died,  iny  dear ;  and  —  I 
didn't  ought  to  speak  of  this,  Master  Jack,  it 
do  upset  me  so  —  I  don't  know  where  the 
child  is  to  this  day." 

"Her  'child ?"  asked  Jack,  with  a  guilty 
consciousness  of  his  ears  being  red. 

"My  own  dear  niece  Martha's  child!" 
repeated  the  good  woman  sorrowfully.  "  A 
boy  it  was,  as  should  be  seven  years  old  by 
this  time.  I've  wrote,  and  I've  wrote,  but 
no  answer  could  I  get.  And  whether  he  is 
dead,  too,  or  whether  his  father's  people  have 
him,  or  what,  is  darkness  to  me." 

"  The  brute  !  "  exclaimed  Jack  Ferrers  ve- 
hemently. "  The  cold-hearted,  odious  brute  !  " 

"  What  is  it,  my  deaj  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Beadle, 
drying  her  tears,  and  looking  with  alarm  at 
the  pony.  "  His  tail  over  the  reins,  is  it  ? 


226  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

Well,  he  will  do  that,  but  'tis  only  play.  He 
means  no  harm." 

"  Oh,  I  know  !  "  cried  Jack  in  confusion. 
"  I  didn't  mean  —  that  is  —  and  is  that  all 
the  relatives  you  have,  Biddy  ?  " 

"Why,  boys  do  love  questions,  don't  they?" 
the  good  woman  said.  "  I  have  a  nephew 
living,  Master  Jack ;  and  if  you  guessed  from 
now  till  Sunday  week,  you  never  would  guess 
his  name." 

"  Solomon  Grundy  "  rose  to  Jack's  lips,  he 
could  not  in  the  least  tell  why.  He  did  his 
best  to  look  unconscious,  but  it  was  perhaps 
fortunate  that  Mrs.  Beadle  was  so  absorbed 
in  her  own  troubled  thoughts  that  she  did  not 
look  at  him. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked.  "Do  tell  me, 
Biddy !  *  Is  it  any  one  I  ever  heard  of  ?  " 

"  Hush,  my  dear !  don't  tell  a  soul  that  I 
mentioned  it.  I  am  not  one  to  force  myself 
on  them  as  has  got  up  in  the  world,  and 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  227 

think  honest  service  a  disgrace.     It's  Ephraim 
Loftus !  " 

"Not  Mr.  Loftus  at  the  Poplars?" 
"  Mr.  Loftus  at  the  Poplars !  The  very 
same.  My  own  sister's  son,  and  little  credit 
lie  is  to  either  of  us.  Don't  ask  me  how 
he  made  his  money,  for  I  don't  know,  and 
don't  want  to  know.  When  he  was  a  lit- 
tle boy,  his  pockets  were  always  full  of  pen- 
nies that  he  got  from  the  other  boys,  trad- 
ing and  the  like,  and  nobody  had  a  kindness 
for  him,  though  they  loved  Martha.  Not 
a  soul  in  the  village  but  loved  Martha, 
and  would  do  anything  for  her.  So  when 
Ephraim  was  fourteen  or  so,  he  went  away 
to  New  York,  and  we  never  heard  anything 
more  till  he  came  back  three  or  four  years 
ago,  a  rich  man,  and  built  that  great  house, 
and  lived  there  summers.  I've  never  seen 
him  but  once  ;  I  don't  go  out,  only  just  in 
the  back  garden,  except  when  I  drive  to 


228  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

town.  And  that  once  he  looked  me  all  over, 
as  if  I  was  a  waxwork  in  a  glass  case,  and 
never  stopped  nor  spoke  a  word.  That's 
Ephraim  Loftus!  He  needn't  have  been 
afraid  of  my  troubling  him  or  his,  I  can  tell 
him.  I  wouldn't  demean  myself."  Mrs. 
Beadle's  face  was  red,  and  her  voice  trembled 
with  angry  pride. 

"And-  Jack  wished  Hildegarde  were 
speaking  instead  of  himself  ;  she  would  know 
what  to  say,  and  he  felt  entirely  at  a  loss. 
"  Do  you  —  do  you  suppose  he  knows  any- 
thing about  —  about  his  sister's  little  boy?" 

Mrs.  Beadle  looked  as  if  some  one  had 
struck  her  a  blow.  " Ephraim  Loftus!"  she 
cried.  "  If  I  thought  that,  Master  Jack,  I'd 
—  I'd  —  why,  what's  the  matter,  sir?"  For 
Jack  had  risen  in  his  seat,  and  was  waving 
the  whip  wildly  round  his  head. 

"It's  my  cousin,"  he  said.  "Don't  you 
see  her  coming  ?" 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  229 

"  Oh,  the  dear  young  lady !  yes,  to  be  sure. 
Walking  this  way,  isn't  she  ?  Never  mind  me. 
Master  Jack !  "  said  the  good  woman,  striving 
for  composure.  "  I  was  upset  by  what  you 
said,  that's  all.  It  gave  me  a  thought  —  who 
is  the  little  boy  with  Miss  Grahame,  dear?" 

"He?  oh  —  he's  a  boy,"  said  Jack,  rather 
incoherently.  "  His  name  is  Hugh.  Good- 
morning,  Hildegarde  !  Hallo,  Hugh  !  how 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Good-morning  !  "  cried  Hildegarde,  as  the 
wagon  drew  up  beside  her.  "  Good-morning, 
Mrs.  Beadle.  Isn't  it  a  lovely  day  ?  Will 
the  pony  stand,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Like  a  rock !  "  and  Jack,  obeying  the 
hint,  leaped  to  the  ground. 

Mrs.  Beadle  had  turned  very  pale.  She 
was  gazing  fixedly  at  Hugh,  who  returned 
the  look  with  wide  blue  eyes,  shining  with 
some  strong  emotion. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Beadle,"  said  Hildegarde  gently, 


230  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

taking  the  housekeeper's  hand  in  hers  as  she 
leant  against  the  wagon,  "  this  is  a  very 
dear  little  friend  of  mine,  whom  I  want  you 
to  know.  His  name  is  Hugh ;  Hugh  Allen  ; 
and  he  is  staying  with  his  uncle,  Mr.  Loftus." 

"  I  knew  it !  "  cried  Mrs.  Beadle,  clapping 
her  hands  together.  (k  I  knew  it !  And  I  am 
going  to  faint !  " 

"  No,  don't  do  that !  "  said  Hugh,  climbing 
up  into  the  seat  beside  her.  u  Don't  do  that. 
You  must  be  calm,  for  you  are  my  great- 
aunt,  and  I  am  your  little  nephew.  How 
do  you  do  ?  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  You  are  sure  he  will  stand?"  whispered 
Hildegarde. 

"  Look  at  him  !  he  is  asleep  already." 

"  Then  come  along  !  "  and  the  two  conspir- 
ators vanished  among  the  trees. 

They  pushed  on  a  little  way  through  the 
tangle  of  undergrowth,  and  paused,  breathless 
and  radiant,  under  a  great  beech-tree. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  281 

"  Jack/'  said  Hildegarde,  6i  you  are  a  dear  ! 
How  did  you  manage  it  ? " 

"  I  didn't  manage  it  at  all.  I  am  a  stupid 
ninny.  Why,  I've  thrown  her  into  a  fit.  Do 
you  think  it's  safe  to  leave  her  alone  ?" 

"  Nonsense !  a  joy  fit  does  not  hurt,  when 
a  person  is  well  and  strong.  Oh !  isn't  it 
delightful !  and  you  have  enjoyed  it,  too, 
Jack,  haven't  you  ?  I  am  sure  you  have. 
And  —  why,  you  have  a  new  hat !  and  your 
necktie  is  straight.  You  look  really  very 
nice,  mon  cousin  !  " 

"  Mille  remerdments,  ma  cousine  !  "  replied 
Jack,  with  a  low  bow,  which,  Hildegarde 
noticed,  was  not  nearly  so  like  the  shutting- 
up  of  a  jackknife  as  it  would  have  been  a  few 
weeks  ago.  "Am  I  really  improving?  You 
have  no  idea  what  I  go  through  with,  looking 
in  the  glass.  It  is  a  humiliating  practice. 
Have  some  chocolates  ?  "  He  pulled  out  a  box, 
and  they  crunched  in  silent  contentment. 


232  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Now  I  think  we  may  go  back,"  said 
Hildegarde,  after  her  third  bonbon.  "  But 
I  must  tell  you  first  what  Hugh  said.  I  told 
him  the  whole  story  as  we  walked  along ;  first 
as  if  it  were  about  some  one  else,  you  know, 
and  then  when  he  had  taken  it  all  in,  I  told 
him  that  he  himself  was  the  little  boy.  He 
was  silent  at  first,  reflecting,,  as  he  always 
does.  Then  he  said  :  '  I  am  like  an  enchanted 
prince,  I  think.  Generally  it  is  fair  ones 
with  golden  locks  that  take  them  out  of 
prison,  but  at  my  age  a  great-aunt  is  better. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Beloved  ? '  and  I  did  think 


80." 


"But  it  was  a  fair  one  with  golden  locks 
who  planned  it  all !  "  Jack  said,  with  a  shy 
look  at  his  cousin's  fair  hair. 

"  Jack,  you  are  learning  to  pay  compli- 
ments! "  cried  Hildegarde,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  I  believe  you  will  go  to  Harvard  after  all, 
and  be  a  classical  scholar." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  233 

"I  would  never  pay  another,"  said  Jack 
seriously,  "if  I  thought  it  would  have  that 
effect." 

When  they  returned  to  the  wagon,  they 
found  Mrs.  Beadle  still  wiping  away  joyful 
tears,  while  Hugh  was  apparently  making 
plans  for  the  future.  His  voice  rang  out 
loud  and  clear.  "And  we  will  dwell  in  a 
corner  of  the  house-top,  and  have  a  dinner  of 
herbs !  "  said  the  child.  "  They  may  have  all 
the  stalled  oxes  themselves,  mayn't  they, 
great-aunt?  And  you  will  clothe  us  in 
scarlet  and  fine  wool,  won't  you,  great- 
aunt?" 

"  Bless  your  dear  heart !  "  cried  Mrs.  Beadle. 
"  Is  it  red  flannel  you  mean  ?  Don't  tell  me 
those  heathen  haven't  put  you  into  flannels!  " 
And  she  wept  again. 


284  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    SECOND    ACT. 

COLONEL  FERRERS  was  taking  his  after- 
noon stroll  in  the  garden.  Dinner  was  over  ; 
for  at  Roseholme,  as  at  Braeside,  country 
hours  were  kept,  with  early  dinner,  and  seven 
o'clock  tea,  the  pleasantest  of  all  meals. 

With  a  fragrant  Manilla  cigar  between 
his  lips,  and  his  good  stick  in  his  hand,  the 
Colonel  paced  up  and  down  the  well-kept  gravel 
paths,  at  peace  with  all  mankind.  The  gar- 
den was  all  ablaze  with  geranium  and  ver- 
bena, heliotrope  and  larkspur.  The  pansies 
spread  a  gold  and  purple  mantle  in  their  own 
corner,  while  poppies  were  scattered  all  about 
in  well-planned  confusion.  All  this  was  Giu- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  235 

seppe's  work,  —  good,  faithful  Giuseppe,  who 
never  rested,  and  never  spoke,  save  to  say 
66  Subito,  Signor !  "  when  his  master  called 
him.  He  was  at  work  now  in  a  corner  of 
the  garden,  setting  out  chrysanthemums ; 
but  no  one  would  have  known  it,  so  noiseless 
were  his  motions,  so  silent  his  coming  and 
going. 

The  Colonel,  though  pleasantly  conscious 
of  the  lovely  pomp  spread  out  for  his  delight, 
was  thinking  of  other  things  than  flowers. 
He  was  thinking  how  his  nephew  Jack  had 
improved  in  the  last  two  months.  Positively, 
thought  the  Colonel,  the  boy  was  developing, 
was  coming  out  of  the  animal  kingdom,  and 
becoming  quite  human.  Partly  due  to  the  In- 
dian clubs,  no  doubt,  and  to  his,  the  Colonel's, 
wholesome  discipline  and  instructions ;  but 
largely,  sir,  largely  to  feminine  influence. 
Daily  intercourse  with  women  like  Mrs.  Gra- 
hame  and  her  daughter  would  civilise  a  go- 


236  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

rilla,  let  alone  a  well-intentioned  giraffe  who 
played  the  fiddle.  He  puffed  meditatively  at 
his  cigar,  and  dwelt  on  a  pleasant  picture  that 
his  mind  called  up :  Hildegarde  as  he  had 
seen  her  yesterday,  sitting  with  a  dozen  little 
girls  about  her,  and  telling  them  stories  while 
they  sewed,  under  her  careful  supervision,  at 
patchwork  and  dolls'  clothes.  How  sweet  she 
looked  !  how  bright  her  face  was,  as  she  told 
the  merry  tale  of  the  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream."  "  Harry  Monmouth,  sir !  she  was 
telling  'em  Shakespeare !  And  they  were 
drinking  it  in  as  if  it  had  been  Mother 
Goose."  The  Colonel  paused,  and  sighed 
heavily.  "If  Hester  had  lived,"  he  said,  "if 
my  little  Hester  had  lived  —  "  and  then  he 
drew  a  long  whiff  of  the  fragrant  Manilla, 
and  walked  on. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  by  the  great  canna 
plant,  he  came  suddenly  upon  Mrs.  Beadle, 
who  was  apparently  waiting  to  speak  to  him. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  237 

The  good  housekeeper  was  in  her  state  dress 
of  black  silk,  with  embroidered  apron  and 
lace  mitts,  and  a  truly  wonderful  cap ;  and 
Colonel  Ferrers,  if  he  had  been  observant  of 
details,  might  have  known  that  this  portended 
something  of  a  serious  nature.  Being  such 
as  he  was,  he  merely  raised  his  hat  with  his 
grave  courtesy,  and  said :  "  Good-afternoon, 
Mrs.  Beadle.  Is  it  about  the  yellow  pickles  ? 
The  same  quantity  as  usual,  ma'am,  or  per- 
haps a  few  more  jars,  as  I  wish  to  send  some 
to  Mrs.  Grahame  at  Braeside." 

Mrs.    Beadle   shivered   a    little.     She   had 

9 

made  the  yellow  pickles  at  Roseholme  for  five 
and  twenty  years  ;  and  now,  —  "  No,  sir,"  she 
said  faintly.  "It  is  not  the  pickles."  She 
plucked  at  the  fringe  of  her  shawl,  and 
Colonel  Ferrers  waited,  though  with  a  kind- 
ling eye.  Women  were  admirable,  but  some 
of  their  ways  were  hard  to  bear. 

Finally  Mrs.  Beadle  made  a  desperate  effort, 


238  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

and  said,  "  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  you  could 
find  some  one  to  take  my  place? " 

Colonel  Ferrers  fixed  a  look  of  keen  in- 
quiry on  her,  and  instantly  felt  her  pulse. 
"Rapid!"  he  said,  "and  fluttering;  Eliza- 
beth Beadle,  are  you  losing  your  mind  ?" 

"I  have  found  my  little  boy,  sir,"  cried 
Mrs.  Beadle,  bursting  into  tears.  "  My  dear 
niece  Martha's  own  child,  Colonel  Ferrers. 
He  is  in  the  hands  of  heathen  reprobates,  if  I 
do  say  it,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  make  a  home 
for  him.  I  never  thought  to  leave  Roseholme 
while  work  I  could,  but  you  see  how  it  is,  sir." 

"I  —  see  how  it  is?"  cried  the  Colonel, 
with  a  sudden  explosion.  Then  controlling 
himself  by  a  great  effort,  he  said  with  forced 
calmness,  "  I  will  walk  over  to  the  end  of  the 
garden,  Elizabeth  Beadle,  and  when  I  return 
I  shall  expect  a  sensible  and  coherent  —  do 
you  understand  ?  —  coherent  account  of  this 
folderol.  See  how  it  is,  indeed  !  " 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  239 

The  Colonel  strode  off,  muttering  to  him- 
self, and  poor  Mrs.  Beadle  wiped  her  eyes,  and 
smoothed  down  her  apron  with  trembling 
hands,  and  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would 
not  cry,  if  she  should  die  for  it. 

When  the  grim-frowning  Colonel  returned, 
she  told  her  story  with  tolerable  plainness, 
and  concluded  by  begging  that  her  kind 
friend  and  master  would  not  be  angry,  but 
would  allow  her  to  retire  to  a  cottage,  where 
she  could  "  see  to  "  her  niece's  child,  and  bring 
him  up  in  a  Christian  way. 

"  Pooh !  pooh  !  my  good  Beadle  !  "  cried 
the  Colonel.  "  Stuff  and  nonsense,  my  good 
soul !  I  am  delighted  that  you  have  found 
the  child ;  delighted,  I  assure  you.  We  will 
get  him  away  from  those  people,  never  fear 
for  that !  and  we  will  send  him  to  school.  A 
good  school,  ma'am,  is  the  place  for  the  boy. 
None  of  your  Hardbacks,  but  a  school  where 
he  will  be  happy  and  well-treated.  In  vaca- 


240  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

tion  time  —  hum  !  ha  !  —  you  might  take  a 
little  trip  with  him  now  and  then,  perhaps. 
But  as  to  disturbing  your  position  here  — 
Pooh  !  pooh  !  stuff  and  nonsense  !  Don't  let 
me  hear  of  it  again  !  " 

Mrs.  Beadle  trembled,  but  remained  firm. 
"No  school,  sir!"  she  said.  "What  the 
child  needs  is  a  home,  Colonel  Ferrers ;  and 
there's  nobody  but  me  to  make  one  for  him. 
No,  sir !  never,  if  I  gave  my  life  to  it,  could 
*I  thank  you  as  should  be  for  your  kindness 
since  first  I  set  foot  in  this  dear  house,  as  no 
other  place  will  ever  be  home  to  me !  but  go 
I  must,  Colonel,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

Then  the  Colonel  exploded.  His  face 
became  purple ;  his  eyes  flashed  fire,  and, 
leaning  upon  his  stick,  he  poured  out  volley 
upon  volley  of  reproach,  exhortation,  argu- 
ment. Higher  and  higher  rose  his  voice,  till 
the  very  leaves  quivered  upon  the  trees  ;  till 
the  object  of  his  wrath  shook  like  an  aspen, 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  241 

and  even  Giuseppe,  in  the  north  corner  of 
the  garden,  quailed,  and  murmured  "  Santa 
Maria  !  "  over  his  chrysanthemums. 

How  much  more  frightened,  since  theirs 
was  the  blame  of  all  the  mischief,  were  two 
guilty  creatures  who  at  this  moment  crouched, 
concealed  behind  a  great  laurel-bush,  listening 
with  all  their  ears  ! 

Jack  and  Hildegarde  exchanged  terrified 
glances.  They  had  known  that  the  Colonel 
would  be  angry,  but  they  had  no  idea  of 
anything  like  this.  He  was  in  a  white  heat 
of  rage,  and  was  hurling  polysyllabic  wrath 
at  the  devoted  woman  before  him,  who  stood 
speechless  but  unshaken,  meekly  receiving 
the  torrent  of  invective. 

Suddenly,  there  was  a  movement  among 
the  bushes ;  and  the  next  moment  a  small 
form  emerged  from  the  shade,  and  stood  in 
front  of  the  furious  old  gentleman.  "  Is  your 
name  Saul  ?"  asked  Hugh  quietly. 


242  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

The  two  conspirators  had  forgotten  the 
child.  They  had  brought  him  with  them, 
with  some  faint  idea  of  letting  the  Colonel 
see  him  as  if  by  accident,  hoping  that  his 
quaint  grace  might  make  a  favourable  impres- 
sion ;  but  in  the  stress  of  the  occasion  they 
had  wholly  forgotten  his  presence,  and  now 
—  now  matters  were  taken  out  of  their  hands. 
Hildegarde  clutched  her  parasol  tight ;  Jack 
clasped  his  violin,  and  both  listened  and 
looked  with  all  their  souls. 

"  Is  your  name  Saul  ?  "  repeated  the  boy, 
as  the  Colonel,  astonishment  choking  for  an 
instant  the  torrent  of  his  rage,  paused  speech- 
less. "  Because  if  it  is,  the  evil  spirit  from 
God  is  upon  you,  and  you  should  have  some 
one  play  with  his  hand." 

"  What  —  what  is  this  ?  "  gasped  the 
Colonel.  "  Who  are  you,  boy  ?  " 

"  I  am  my  great-aunt's  little  nephew," 
said  Hugh.  "  But  no  matter  for  me.  You 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  243 

must  sit  down  when  the  evil  spirit  is  upon 
you.  You  might  hurt  some  one.  Why  do 
you  look  so  at  me,  great-aunt  ?  Why  don't 
you  help  Mr.  Saul  ?  " 

"  Come  away,  Hughie,  love  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Beadle,  in  an  agony  of  terror.  "  Come,  dear, 
and  don't  ever  speak  to  the  Colonel  so  again. 
He's  only  a  babe,  sir,  as  doesn't  know  what  he 
is  saying." 

"Go  away  yourself!"  roared  the  Colonel, 
recovering  the  power  of  speech.  "  Depart, 
do  you  hear?  Remove  yourself  from  my 
presence,  or  — "  he  moved  forward.  Mrs. 
Beadle  turned  and  fled.  "  Now,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  child,  "  what  do  you  mean, 
child,  by  what  you  said  just  now  ?  I  —  I 
will  sit  down." 

He  sank  heavily  on  a  garden  seat  and 
motioned  the  child  before  him.  "  What  do 
you  mean,  about  Saul  —  eh  ?  " 

"But  you  know,"  said  Hugh,  opening  wide 


244  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

eyes  of  wonder,  — "  are  you  so  old  that  you 
forget?  —  how  the  evil  spirit  from  God  came 
upon  King  Saul,  and  they  sent  for  David, 
and  he  played  with  his  hand  till  the  evil 
spirit  went  away.  Now  you  remember  ?  "  Pie 
nodded  confidently,  and  sat  down  beside  the 
Colonel,  who,  though  still  heaving  and  pant- 
ing from  his  recent  outburst,  made  no  motion 
to  repel  him.  "1  said  Mr.  Saul,"  Hugh  con- 
tinued, "because  you  are  not  a  king,  you  see, 
and  I  suppose  just  '  Saul '  would  not  be  polite 
when  a  person  is  as  old  as  you  are.  And 
what  do  you  think?"  he  cried  joyously,  as  a 
sudden  thought  struck  him.  "  The  ostrich 
gentleman  plays  most  beautifully  with  his 
hand.  His  name  isn't  David,  but  that  doesn't 
matter.  I  am  going  to  find  him." 

"Play,  Jack,"  whispered  Hildegarde.  "  Play, 
quick!  Something  old  and  simple.  Play 
<  Annie  Laurie.' ' 

Obeying  the  girl's  fleeting  look,  Jack  laid 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  245 

fiddle  to  bow,  and  the  old  love  tune  rose  from 
behind  the  laurel-bush  and  floated  over  the 
garden,  so  sweet,  so  sweet,  the  very  air  seemed 
to  thrill  with  tenderness  and  gentle  melody. 

Colonel  Ferrers  sank  back  on  the  seat. 
"Hester's  song,"  he  murmured.  "Hester's 
song.  Is  it  Hester,  or  an  angel  ? " 

The  notes  rose,  swelled  into  the  pathetic 

refrain,  — 

"And  for  bonny  Annie  Laurie, 
I'd  lay  me  down  and  die." 

Then  they  sank  away,  and  left  the  silence 
still  throbbing,  as  the  hearts  of  the  listeners 
throbbed. 

"/  thought  it  was  an  angel,"  cried  Hugh, 
"when  I  first  heard  him,  Mr.  Saul.  But  it 
isn't.  It  is  the  ostrich  gentleman,  and  he 
has  to  play  up  in  the  attic  generally,  because 
his  uncle  is  a  poor  person  who  doesn't  kn,ow 
how  to  like  music.  I  am  so  sorry  for  his 
uncle,  aren't  you?" 


246  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Yes,"  said  Colonel  Ferrers  gruffly.  "  Yes, 
I  am..  Very  sorry." 

A  pause  followed.  Then  Hugh  asked  cau- 
tiously :  "  How  do  you  feel  now,  Mr.  Saul  ? 
Do  you  feel  as  if  the  evil  spirit  were  going 
away?" 

"  I've  got  him,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  whose 
eyes  the  fire  of  anger  was  giving  place  to 
something  suspiciously  like  a  twinkle.  "  I've 
got  'him  —  bottled  up.  Now,  youngster,  who 
told  you  all  that?" 

"All  what?"  asked  Hugh,  whose  thoughts 
were  beginning  to  wander  as  he  gazed  around 
the  garden.  "About  the  poor  person  who 
doesn't  know  how  to  —  " 

"No,  no,"  said  the  Colonel  hastily,  "not 
that.  About  Saul  and  David,  and  all  that. 
Who  put  you  up  to  it  ?  Hey  ? " 

His  keen  eyes  gazed  intently  into  the  clear 
blue  ones  of  the  child.  Hugh  stared  at  him 
a  moment,  then  answered  gently,  with  a  note 


HILDEGARDE'fc  HOME.  247 

of  indulgence,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  a 
much  younger  child  :  "  It  is  in  the  Bible.  It 
is  a  pity  that  you  do  not  know  it.  But  per- 
haps there  are  no  pictures  in  your  Bible. 
There  was  a  big  one  where  I  lived,  all  full  of 
pictures,  so  I  learned  to  read  that  way.  And 
I  always  liked  the  Saul  pictures,"  he  added, 
his  eyes  kindling,  "  because  David  was  beauti- 
ful, you  know,  and  of  a  ruddy  countenance ; 
and  King  Saul  was  all  hunched  up  against 
the  tent-post,  with  his  eyes  glaring  just  as 
yours  were  when  you  roared,  only  he  was 
uglier.  You  are  not  at  all  ugly  now,  but 
then  you  looked  as  if  you  were  going  to  burst. 
If  a  person  should  burst  —  " 

Colonel  Ferrers  rose,  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  path,  going  a  few  steps  each 
way,  and  glancing  frequently  at  the  boy 
from  lander  his  bushy  eyebrows.  Hugh  fell 
into  a  short  reverie,  and  woke  to  say  cheer- 
fully:  — 


248  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  This  place  fills  me  with  heavenly  joys. 
Does  it  fill  you?" 

"  Humph  !  "  growled  the  Colonel.  "  If  you 
lived  here,  you  would  break  all  the  flowers 
off,  I  suppose,  and  pull  'em  to  pieces  to  see 
how  they  grow  ;  eh  ?  " 

Hugh  contemplated  him  dreamily.  "  Is 
that  what  you  did  when  you  were  a  little 
boy  ? "  he  answered.  "  I  love  flowers.  I 
don't  like  to  pick  them,  for  it  takes  their  life. 
I  don't  care  how  they  grow,  as  long  as  they 
do  grow." 

"  And  you  would  take  all  the  birds'  eggs," 
continued  the  Colonel, "  and  throw  stones  at  the 
birds,  and  trample  the  flower-beds,  and  bring 
mud  into  the  house,  and  tie  fire-crackers  to  the 
cat's  tail,  and  upset  the  ink.  / know  you!  " 

Hugh  rose  with  dignity,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  Colonel  with  grave  disapproval.  "  You 
do  not  know  me  !  "  he  said.  "  And  —  and  if 
that  is  the  kind  of  boy  you  were,  it  is  no 


HUGH  AND  COLONKL  FERRERS. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  251 

wonder  that  the  evil  spirit  comes  upon  you. 
I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  you  did  burst 
some  day.  Good-by,  Mr.  Saul !  I  am  going 
away  now." 

"  Hold  on  !  "  cried  the  Colonel  peremptorily. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  !  Do  you  hear  ?  Shake 
hands ! " 

Hugh  beamed  forgiveness,  and  extended  a 
small  brown  paw,  which  was  shaken  with 
right  good  will. 

'  "  That's  right !  "  said  Colonel  Ferrers,  with 
gruff  heartiness.  "  Now  go  into  the  house 
and  find  your  great-aunt,  and  tell  her  to  give 
you  some  jam.  Do  *you  like  jam?"  The 
boy  nodded  with  all  the  rapture  of  seven 
years.  "  Give  you  some  jam,  and  a  picture- 
book,  and  make  up  a  bed  in  the  little  red 
room.  Can  you  remember  all  that  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Saul !  "  cried  Hugh,  dancing  about 
a  little.  "  Nice  Mr.  Saul !  Shall  I  bring  you 
some  jam  ?  What  kind  of  jam  shall  I  say  ?  " 


252  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"  What  kind  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Damson." 

"  Damson  it  is  !     Off  with  you  now !  " 

When  the  boy  was  gone,  the  Colonel 
walked  up  and  down  for  a  few  moments, 
frowning  heavily,  his  hands  holding  his  stick 
behind  him.  Then  he  said  quietly,  "  Jack !  " 

Jack  came  forward  and  stood  before  him, 
looking  half-proud,  half -sheepish,  with  his 
fiddle  under  his  arm. 

The  Colonel  contemplated  him  for  a 
moment  in  silence.  Then,  "  Why  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  cacophonous,  didn't  you 
play  me  a  tune  at  first,  Instead  of  an  infernal 
German  exercise  ?  Hey  ?  " 

Jack  blushed  and  stammered.  He  had 
played  for  his  uncle  once  only,  a  fugue  by 
Hummel,  of  which  his  mind  had  happened  to 
be  full ;  he  felt  that  it  had  not  been  a  judi- 
cious choice. 

"  Can  you  play  <  The  Harp  of  Tara  '  ?  "  de- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  253 

inanded  the  Colonel ;  and  Jack  played,  with 
exquisite  feeling,  the  lovely  old  tune,  the 
Colonel  listening  with  bent  head,  and  mark- 
ing the  time  with  his  stick.  "  Harry  Mon- 
mouth !  "  he  said,  when  it  was  over.  "Be- 
cause a  man  doesn't  like  to  attend  the  violent 
ward  of  a  cats'  lunatic  asylum,  it  doesn't  fol- 
low that  he  doesn't  care  for  music.  Music, 
sir,  is  melody,  that's  what  it  is  ! " 

Jack  shuddered  slightly,  and  did  silent  hom- 
age to  the  shade  of  Wagner,  but  knew  enough 
to  keep  silence. 

"  And  —  and  where  did  you  pick  up  this 
child  ? "  his  uncle  continued.  r(  I  take  it  back 
about  his  having  been  put  up  to  what  he  did. 
He  is  true  blue,  that  child ;  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  were,  too,  in  milksop  fashion. 
Hey?" 

"  Skim-milk  is  blue,  you  know,  uncle," 
said  Jack,  smiling.  "  But  I  didn't  discover 
Hugh.  Isn't  he  a  wonderful  child,  sir  ? 


254  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Hildegarde  discovered  him,  of  course,  I  be- 
lieve Hildegarde  does  everything,  except  what 
her  mother  does.  Come  here,  Hildegarde  ! 
Come  and  tell  Uncle  Tom  about  your  finding 
Hugh." 

But  Hildegarde  was  gone. 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  255 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   PICNIC. 

"Mr  dear  Colonel,  I  congratulate  you 
most  heartily  !  Indeed,  I  had  little  doubt  of 
your  success,  for  this  was  a  case  in  which 
Reynard  the  Fox  was  sure  to  have  the  worst 
of  it.  But  I  am  very  curious  to  know  how 
you  managed  it." 

"  Nothing  could  be  simpler,  my  dear 
madam.  I  went  to  the  fellow's  house 
yesterday  morning.  '  Mr.  Loftus,  your  little 
nephew  is  at  my  house.  Your  aunt,  Mrs. 
Beadle,  has  taken  charge  of  him,  according  to 
his  mother's  wish,  and  I  undertook  to  inform 
you  of  the  fact.'  He  turned  all  the  colours 
of  the  rainbow,  began  to  bluster,  and  said 


256  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

he  was  the  boy's  nearest  relation,  which  is 
very  true.  'I  want  him  to  grow  up  a  gentle- 
man/ said  he.  '  Precisely,'  said  I.  '  He 
shall  have  a  chance  to  do  so,  Mr.  Loftus.' 
The  fellow  didn't  like  that ;  he  looked  black 
and  green,  and  spoke  of  the  law  and  the 
police.  'That  reminds  me,'  I  said,  'of  a 
story.  About  twenty-five  years  ago,  or  it 
may  be  thirty,  a  sum  of  money  was  stolen 
from  my  desk,  in  what  I  call  my  counting- 
room  in  my  own  house.  Am  I  taking  up  too 
much  of  your  valuable  time,  sir  ? '  He  choked 
and  tried  to  speak,  but  could  only  shake  his 
head.  '  The  thief  was  a  mere  lad,'  I  went  on, 
6  and  a  clumsy  one,  for  he  dropped  his  pocket- 
knife  in  getting  out  of  the  window,  —  a  knife 
marked  with  his  name.  For  reasons  of  my 
own  I  did  not  arrest  the  lad,  who  left  town 
immediately  after ;  but  I  have  the  knife, 
Ephraim,  in  my  possession.'  I  waited  a 
moment,  and  then  said  that  I  would  send  for 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  257 

the  little  boy's  trunk ;  wished  him  good-day, 
and  came  off,  leaving  him  glowering  after 
me  on  the  doorstep.  You  see,  it  was  very 
simple." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  But  is  it 
possible  that  Mr.  Loftus  —  " 

"Very  possible,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grahame. 
As  I  told  him,  I  have  the  knife,  with  his 
name  in  full.  One  hundred  dollars  he  stole  ; 
for  Elizabeth  Beadle's  sake,  of  course  I  let  it 
go.  Her  peace  of  mind  is  worth  more  than 
that,  for  if  she's  thoroughly  upset,  the  din- 
ners she  orders  are  a  nightmare,  positively  a 
nightmare.  That  is  actually  one  reason  why 
I  planned  this  picnic  for  to-day,  because  I 
knew  I  should  have  something  with  corn- 
starch  in  it  if  I  dined  at  home.  Why  corn- 
starch  should  connect  itself  with  trouble  in 
the  feminine  mind,  I  do  not  know;  but  such 
seems  to  be  the  case." 

Mrs.    Grahame    laughed    heartily   at    this 


258  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

theory ;  then,  in  a  few  earnest  words,  she  told 
Colonel  Ferrers  how  deeply  interested  she 
and  her  daughter  were  in  this  singular  child, 
and  how  happy  they  were  in  the  sudden  and 
great  change  in  his  prospects. 

"And  I  know  you  will  love  him,"  she 
said.  "  You  cannot  help  loving  him,  Colonel. 
He  is  really  a  wonderful  child." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  Colonel  thoughtfully. 
Then  after  a  pause,  he  continued:  "  I  thought 
I  had  lost  the  power  of  loving,  Mrs.  Grahame; 
of  loving  anything  but  my  flowers,  that  is, 
any  living  creature ;  lost  it  forty  years  ago. 
But  somehow,  of  late,  there  has  been  a  stir- 
ring of  the  ground,  a  movement  among  the 
old  roots  —  yes !  yes  !  there  may  be  a  little 
life  yet.  That  child  of  yours  —  you  never 
saw  Hester  Aytoun,  Mrs.  Grahame  ?  " 

"Never,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame  softly.  "She 
died  the  year  before  I  came  here  as  a  child." 

"Precisely,"    said   Colonel   Ferrers.     "She 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  259 

was  a — a  very  lovely  person.  Your  daughter 
is  extremely  like  her,  my  dear  madam." 

"I  fancied  as  much/'  said  Mrs.  Grahame, 
"  from  the  miniature  I  found  in  Uncle 
Aytoun's  collection." 

"  Ah !  yes  !  the  miniature.  I  remember, 
there  were  two.  I  have  the  mate  to  it,  Mrs. 
Grahame.  Yes  !  your  daughter  is  very  like 
her.  There  was  a  strong  attachment  between 
Hester  and  myself.  Then  came  a  mistake,  a 
misunderstanding,  the  puff  of  a  feather,  a 
breath  of  wind  ;  I  went  away.  She  was 
taken  suddenly  ill,  died  of  a  quick  consump- 
tion. That  was  forty  years  ago,  but  it 
changed  my  life,  do  you  see  ?  I  have  lived 
alone.  Robert  Aytoun  was  a  disappointed 
man.  Wealthy  Bond,  —  you  know  the  old 
story,  —  Agatha  an  invalid,  Barbara  a  rigor- 
ous woman,  strict  Calvinist,  and  so  forth. 
We  all  grew  old  together.  The  neighbours  call 
me  a  recluse,  a  bear — I  don't  know  what  all; 


260  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

right  enough  they  have  been.  But  now  — 
well,  first  the  lad,  there,  came — my  brother's 
son.  Duty,  you  know,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ; 
father  an  unsuccessful  genius,  angel  and 
saint,  with  an  asinine  quality  added.  That 
waked  me  up  a  little,  but  only  made  me 
growl.  But  that  child  of  yours,  and  your 
own  society,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so 
—  I  see  things  with  different  eyes,  in  short. 
Why,  I  am  actually  becoming  fond  of  my 
milksop ;  a  good  lad,  eh,  Mrs.  Grahame  ?  an 
honest,  gentlemanly  lad,  I  think  ?" 

u  Indeed,  yes!"  cried  Mrs.  Grahame  heart- 
ily. "A  most  dear  and  good  lad,  Colonel 
Grahame  !  I  cannot  tell  you  how  fond  Hilda 
and  I  are  of  him." 

"That's  right!  that's  right!"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  great  heartiness.  u  You  have 
done  it  all  for  him,  between  you.  Holds  up 
his  head  now,  walks  like  a  Christian ;  and,  pos- 
itively, I  found  him  reading  '  Henry  Esmond,' 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  261 

the  other  day ;  reading  it  of  his  own  accord, 
you  observe.  Said  his  cousin  Hilda  said  Es- 
mond was  the  finest  gentleman  she  knew,  and 
wanted  to  know  what  he  was  like.  When  a 
boy  takes  to  '  Henry  Esmond,'  my  dear  mad- 
am, he  is  headed  in  the  right  direction. 
Asked  me  about  Lord  Herbert,  too,  at  dinner 
yesterday;  really  took  an  interest.  Got  that 
from  his  cousin,  too.  How  many  girls  know 
anything  about  Lord  Herbert  ?  Tell  me  that, 
will  you?" 

"  Hildegarde  has  always  been  a  hero-wor- 
shipper f  "  said  Mrs.  Grahame,  smiling,  with 
the  warm  feeling  about  the  heart  that  a 
mother  feels  when  her  child  is  praised.  "  You 
make  me  very  happy,  Colonel,  with  all  these 
kind  words  about  my  dear  daughter.  What 
she  is  to  me,  of  course,  I  cannot  tell.  '  The 
very  eyes  of  me ! '  you  remember  Herrick's 
dear  old  song.  But  I  think  my  good  black 
auntie  put  it  best,  one  day  last  week,  when 


262  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Hildegarde  had  a  bad  headache,  and  was  in 
her  room  all  day.  '  Miss  Hildy,'  said  auntie, 
6  she's  de  salt  in  de  soup,  she  is.  'Tain't  no 
good  without  her.'  But  hark  !  here  they 
come  back,  with  the  water ;  and  now,  Colonel, 
it  is  time  for  luncheon." 

The  speakers  were  sitting  under  a  great 
pine  tree,  one  of  a  grove  which  crowned  the 
top  of  a  green  hill.  Below  them  lay  broad, 
sunny  meadows,  here  whitening  into  silver 
with  daisies,  there  waving  with  the  young 
grain.  In  a  hollow  at  a  little  distance  lay  a 
tiny  lake,  as  if  a  giantess  had  dropped  her 
mirror  down  among  the  golden  fields ;  further 
off,  dark  stretches  of  woodland  framed  the 
bright  picture.  It  was  a  scene  of  perfect 
beauty.  Mrs.  Grahame  sat  gazing  over  the 
landscape,  her  heart  filled  with  a  great  peace. 
She  listened  to  the  young  voices,  which  were 
coming  nearer  and  nearer.  She  was  so  glad 
that  she  had  made  the  effort  to  come.  It  had 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  263 

been  an  effort,  even  though  Colonel  Ferrers' s 
thoughtfulness  had  provided  the  most  com- 
fortable of  low  phaetons,  drawn  by  the  slowest 
and  steadiest  of  cobs,  which  had  brought  her 
with  as  little  discomfort  as  might  be  to  the 
top  of  the  hill.  But  how  well  worth  the 
fatigue  it  was  to  be  here ! 

"And  do  you  love  me,  Purple  Maid?"  It 
was  Hugh's  clear  treble  that  thrilled  with 
earnestness. 

"  I  love  you  very  much,  dear  lad  !  What 
would  you  do  if  I  did  not,  Hugh  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  should  weep,  and  weep,  and  be  a 
very  melancholy  Jaques,  indeed  !" 

"Melancholy  Jaques!"  muttered  Colonel 
Ferrers.  "  Where  on  earth  did  he  get  hold 
of  that  ?  Extraordinary  youngster ! " 

"  He  loves  the  Shakespeare  stories,"  said 
Mrs.  Grahame.  "  Hilda  tells  them  to  him, 
and  reads  bits  here  and  there.  Oh,  I  assure 
you,  Colonel  Ferrers,  Hugh  is  a  revelation. 


264  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

There  never  was  a  child  like  him,  I  do 
believe.  But,  hush  !  here  he  is  !  " 

The  boy's  bright  head  appeared,  as  he  came 
up  the  hill,  hand  in  hand  with  Hildegarde. 
They  were  laden  with  ferns  and  flowers,  while 
Jack  Ferrers,  a  few  steps  behind,  carried  a 
pail  of  fresh  water. 

"  Aha !  "  said  the  Colonel,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"  Here  we  are,  eh  ?  What !  you  have  robbed 
the  woods,  Hildegarde  ?  Scaramouche,  how 
goes  it,  hey  ?  " 

"  It  goes  very  well !  "  replied  Hugh  soberly, 
but  with  sparkling  eyes.  "I  am  going  to  call 
him  '  Bonny  Dundee,'  because  his  name  is 
John  Grahame,  you  see  ;  and  she  says,  per- 
haps he  may  be  a  hero,  too,  some  day ;  that 
would  be^so  nice  !  " 

"  Come,  Hugh  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  laughing 
and  blushing.  "  You  must  not  tell  our 
secrets.  Wait  till  he  is  a  hero,  and  then  he 
shall  have  the  hero's  name." 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  265 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Colonel.  "  You  young 
Jacobite,  are  you  instilling  your  pernicious 
doctrines  into  this  child's  breast  ?  Bonny 
Dundee,  indeed !  Marmalade  is  all  that  I 
want  to  know  about  Dundee.  Bring  the  ham- 
per, Jack  !  here,  under  this  tree !  You  are 
quite  comfortable  here,  Mrs.  Grahame?" 

"Extremely  comfortable,"  said  that  lady. 
"  Now,  you  gentlemen  may  unpack  the  bas- 
kets, while  Hilda  and  I  lay  the  cloth." 

All  hands  went  to  work,  and  soon  a  most 
tempting  repast  was  set  out  under  the  great 
pine  tree.  Colonel  Ferrers' s  contribution  was 
a  triumph  of  Mrs.  Beadle's  skill,  and  re- 
sembled Tennyson's  immortal 

"Pasty  costly  made, 

Where  quail  and  pigeon,  lark  and  linnet  lay, 
With  golden  yolks  imbedded  and  injellied.* 

» 

Indeed,  the  Colonel  quoted  these  lines  with 
great  satisfaction,  as  he  set  the  great  pie 


266  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

down  in  the  centre  of  the  "  damask  napkin, 
wrought  with  horse  and  hound." 

"  That  is  truly  magnificent !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Grahame.  "  And  I  can  match  it  with 
4  the  dusky  loaf  that  smells  of  home/  ' '  she 
added,  taking  out  of  her  basket  a  loaf  of 
graham  bread  and  a  pot  of  golden  butter. 

"  Here  is  the  smoked  tongue,"  cried  Hilde- 
garde ;  "  here  is  raspberry  jam,  and  almond 
cake.  Shall  we  starve,  do  you  think,  Colonel 
Ferrers?" 

"  In  case  of  extreme  hunger,  I  have  brought 
a  few  peaches,"  said  the  Colonel ;  and  he 
piled  the  rosy,  glowing,  perfect  globes  in  a 
pyramid  at  a  corner  of  the  cloth. 

"  Cloth  of  gold  shall  be  matched  with  cloth 
of  frieze,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame,  and  in  the 
opposite  corner  rose  a  pyramid  of  baked  pota- 
toes, hot  and  hot,  wafting  such  an  inviting 
smell  through  the  air  that  the  Colonel  seized 
the  carving-knife  at  once. 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  267 

"Are  you  ready?"  he  demanded.  "Why 
—  where  is  Jack  ?  Jack,  you  rascal !  where 
have  you  got  to  ? " 

"Here!"  cried  a  voice  among  the  bushes; 
and  Jack  appeared,  flushed  with  triumph, 
carrying  a  smoking  coffee-pot.  "  This  is  my 
contribution/'  he  said.  "  If  it  is  only  clear ! 
I  think  it  is." 

Hildegarde  held  out  a  cup,  and  he  poured 
out  a  clear  amber  stream,  whose  fragrance 
made  both  potatoes  and  peaches  retire  from 
the  competition. 

"  You  really  made  this  ? "  Colonel  Ferrers 
asked.  "You,  sir?" 

"  I,  sir,"  replied  Jack.  "  Biddy  taught  me. 
I  —  I  have  been  practising  on  you  for  a  couple 
of  days,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  You  may  re- 
member that  your  coffee  was  not  quite  clear 
day  before  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Clear !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  bending 
his  brows  in  mock  anger.  "  I  thought  Lethe 


268  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

and  Acheron  had  been  stirred  into  it.  So 
that  is  the  kind  of  trick  Elizabeth  Beadle 
plays  on  me,  eh  ?  Scaramouche  !  "  addressing 
Hugh,  "you  must  look  after  this  great-aunt 
of  yours,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"She  made  the  pie,"  said  Hugh  diplomati- 
cally. 

"She  did!  she  did!"  cried  Hildegarde, 
holding  out  her  cup.  "  Let  no  one  breathe  a 
word  against  her.  Fill  up,  fill  up  the  festal 
cup !  drop  Friendship's  sugar  therein !  two 
lumps,  my  mother,  if  you  love  me !  " 

"  Somebody  should  make  a  poem  on  this 
pie,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame.  "  There  never  was 
such  a  pie,  I  believe.  Hilda,  you  seem  in 
poetic  mood.  Can  you  nof  improvise  some- 
thing?" 

Hildegarde  considered  for  a  few  minutes, 
making  meanwhile  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  theme  of  song ;  then,  throwing  back  her 
head,  she  exclaimed  with  dramatic  fervour :  — 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  269 

"  I  sing  the  pie ! 

The  pie  sing  I ! 
And  yet  I  do  not  sing  it;  why? 

Because  my  mind 

Is  more  inclined 
To  eat  it  than  to  glorify." 

Anything  will  make  people  laugh  at  a  pic- 
nic, especially  on  a  day  when  the  whole 
world  is  aglow  with  light  and  life  and  joy. 
One  jest  followed  another,  and  the  walls  of 
the  pie  melted  away  to  the  sound  of  laughter, 
as  did  those  of  Jericho  at  the  sound  of  the 
trumpet.  Merlin,  who  had  stayed  behind  to 
watch  a  woodchuck,  came  up  just  in  time  to 
consume  the  last  fragments,  which  he  did 
with  right  good  will.  Then,  when  they  had 
eaten  "  a  combination  of  Keats  and  sunset," 
as  Mrs.  Grahame  called  the  peaches,  the 
Colonel  asked  permission  to  light  his  cigar ; 
and  the  soft  fragrance  of  the  Manilla  mingled 
with  odours  of  pine  and  fir,  while  delicate 


270  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

blue  rings  floated  through  the  air,  to  the 
delight  of  Hugh  and  Merlin. 

"This  is  the  nose  dinner,"  said  the  child. 
"It  is  almost  better  than  the  mouth  dinner, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"Humph !"  said  the  Colonel,  puffing  medi- 
tatively. "  If  you  hadn't  had  the  mouth  din- 
ner first,  young  man,  I  think  we  should  hear 
from  you  shortly.  Hest  —  a  —  Hildegarde, 
will  you  give  us  a  song  ?  " 

So  Hildegarde  sang  one  song  and  another, 
the  old  songs  that  the  Colonel  loved :  "  Ben 
Bolt,"  and  "The  Arethusa,"  and  "  A-hunting 
we  will  go  "  ;  and  then,  for  her  own  particular 
pleasure  and  her  mother's,  she  sang  an  old 
ballad,  to  a  strange,  lovely  old  air  that  she 
had  found  in  an  Elizabethan  song-book. 

"  When  shaws  been  sheene,  and  shraddes  full  faire, 

And  leaves  are  large  and  long, 
It  is  merry  walking  in  the  fair  forest, 
To  hear  the  small  birds'  song. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  271 

"  The  woodwele  sang,  and  would  not  cease, 

Sitting  upon  the  spray, 
Soe  loud,  he  wakened  Robin  Hood, 
In  the  greenwood  where  he  lay.'7 

It  was  the  ballad  of  Robin  Hood  and  Guy 
of  Gisborne ;  and  when  she  sang  the  second 
verse  her  mother's  sweet  alto  chimed  in ;  and 
when  she  sang  the  third  verse,  Jack  began  to 
whistle  a  soft,  sweet  accompaniment,  the  ef- 
fect of  which  was  almost  magical ;  and  when 
she  sang  the  fourth  verse,  —  wonder  of  won- 
ders !  here  was  the  Colonel  humming  a  bass, 
rather  gruff,  but  in  perfect  tune. 

When  the  ballad  was  over,  there  was 
a  chorus  of  surprise  and  congratulation. 
"  Colonel  Ferrers !  why  didn't  you  tell  us 
you  sang  ?  " 

"  I  say,  Uncle  Tom,  you've  been  regularly 
humbugging  us.  The  idea  of  your  turning 
out  a  basso  prof  undo  !  " 

The  Colonel  looked  pleased  and  conscious. 


272  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"Saul  among  the  prophets,  eh?"  he  said. 
"  This  little  rascal  calls  me  Saul,  you  know, 
Mrs.  Grahame ;  caught  me  in  a  temper  the 
other  day,  and  set  Jack  on  me  with  his  fiddle. 
Ha !  hum  !  Why,  I  used  to  sing  a  little,  duets 
and  so  forth,  forty  years  ago.  Always  fond 
of  singing ;  fond  of  anything  that  has  a  tune 
to  it,  though  I  can't  abide  your  Dutch  noises. 
Where's  your  fiddle,  Jack  ?  " 

Jack  had  not  brought  his  fiddle ;  but  he 
whistled  a  Scotch"  reel  that  Colonel  Ferrers 
had  not  heard  since  before  the  flood,  he  said  ; 
and  then  Hildegarde  sang  "  Young  Lochin- 
var,"  and  so  the  pleasant  moments  went. 

By  and  by,  when  the  dishes  were  burned 
(such  a  convenience  are  the  paper  dishes, 
removing  the  only  unpleasant  feature  of  a 
picnic,  the  washing  of  dishes  or  carrying 
home  of  dirty  ones),  and  everything  neatly 
packed  away,  Hugh  challenged  Hildegarde  to 
a  race  down  the  hill  and  across  the  long 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  273 

meadow  to  the  sunk  wall  beyond.  Jack 
claimed  a  place  in  the  running,  but  the 
Colonel  insisted  that  he  and  Merlin  should 
give  the  others  odds,  as  ostriches  and  quadru- 
peds had  an  unfair  advantage  over  ordinary 
runners.  Mrs.  Grahame,  after  hunting  in  her 
reticule,  produced  a  prize,  a  rouleau  of  choco- 
late ;  positions  were  taken,  and  Colonel  Fer- 
rers gave  the  signal  —  one,  two,  three,  and 
away  !  Away  went  Hildegarde  and  the  boy, 
Jack  holding  Merlin,  who  was  frantic  with 
impatience,  and  did  not  understand  the  theory 
of  handicaps.  As  the  first  pair  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  the  Colonel  again  gave 
the  signal,  and  the  second  two  darted  in 
pursuit.  "  Away,  away  went  Auster  like  an 
arrow  from  the  bow !  " 

Hildegarde  was  running  beautifully,  her 
head  thrown  back,  her  arms  close  at  her 
sides ;  just  behind  her  Hugh's  bright  head 
bobbed  up  and  down,  as  his  little  legs  flew 


274  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

like  a  windmill.  But  Jack  Ferrers  really 
merited  his  name  of  the  ostrich  gentleman, 
as  with  head  poked  forward,  arms  flapping, 
and  legs  moving  without  apparent  concert, 
he  hurled  himself  down  the  hill  at  a  most 
astonishing  rate  of  speed.  The  Colonel  and 
Mrs.  Grahame  looked  on  with  delight,  when 
suddenly  both  uttered  an  exclamation  and 
rose  to  their  feet. 

What  was  it  ? 

From  behind  a  clump  of  trees  at  a  little 

m 

distance  beyond  Hildegarde,  a  large  animal 
suddenly  appeared.  It  had  apparently  been 
grazing,  but  now  it  stopped  short,  raised  its 
head,  and  gazed  at  the  two  figures  which 
came  flying,  all  unconscious,  towards  it. 

"  John  Bryan's  bull !  "  cried  Mrs.  Grahame. 
"  Oh  !  Colonel  Ferrers,  the  children  !  Hilde- 
garde ! " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  dear  madam !  "  said 
the  Colonel  hastily,  seizing  his  stick.  "  Ke- 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  275 

main  where  you  are,  I  beg  of  you.  I  will 
have  John  Bryan  hanged  to-morrow  !  Mean- 
while " —  and  he  hastened  down  the  hill,  as 
rapidly  as  seventy  years  and  a  rheumatic 
knee  would  permit. 

But  it  was  clear  that  whatever  was  to  be 
done  must  be  done  quickly.  Hildegarde  and 
Hugh  had  seen  the  bull,  and  stopped.  He 
was  well  known  as  a  dangerous  animal,  and 
had  once  before  escaped  from  his  owner,  a 
neighbouring  farmer.  Mrs.  Grahame,  faint 
with  terror,  saw  little  Hugh,  with  a  sudden 
movement,  throw  himself  before  Hildegarde, 
who  clasped  her  arms  round  him,  and  slowly 
and  quietly  began  to  move  backwards.  The 
bull  uttered  a  bellow,  and  advanced,  pawing 
the  ground ;  at  first  slowly,  then  more  and 
more  rapidly  as  Hildegarde  increased  her  pace, 
till  but  a  short  distance  intervened  between 
him  and  the  two  helpless  children.  Colonel 
Ferrers  was  still  a  long  way  off.  Oh !  for 


276  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

help !  help !  The  bull  bellowed  again,  low- 
ered his  huge  head,  and  rushed  forward.  In 
a  moment  he  would  be  upon  them.  Suddenly 
—  what  was  this  ?  A  strange  object  appeared, 
directly  between  the  bull  and  his  helpless 
victims.  What  was  it  ?  The  bull  stopped 
short,  and  glared  at  his  new  enemy.  Two 
long  legs,  like  those  of  a  man,  but  no  body ; 
between  the  legs  a  face,  looking  at  him  with 
fiery  eyes.  Such  a  thing  the  bull  had  never 
seen.  What  was  it  ?  Men  he  knew,  and 
women,  and  children ;  knew  and  hated  them, 
for  they  were  like  his  master,  who  kept  him 
shut  up,  and  sometimes  beat  him.  But  this 
thing !  what  was  it  ?  The  strange  figure 
advanced  steadily  towards  him ;  the  bull  re- 
treated— stopped — bellowed — retreated  again, 
shaking  his  head.  He  did  not  like  this. 
Suddenly  the  figure  made  a  spring !  turned 
upside  down.  The  long  legs  waved  threaten- 
ingly in  the  air,  and  with  an  unearthly  shriek 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  277 

the  monster  came  whirling  forward  in  the 
shape  of  a  wheel.  John  Bryan's  bull  turned 
and  fled,  as  never  bull  fled  before.  Snorting 
with  terror,  he  went  crashing  through  the 
woods,  that  wild  shriek  still  sounding  in  his 
ears ;  and  he  never  stopped  till  he  reached  his 
own  barnyard,  where  John  Bryan  promptly 
beat  him  and  tied  him  up. 

Hildegarde,  pale  and  trembling,  held  out 
her  hand  as  Jack,  assuming  his  normal  post- 
ure, came  forward.  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
found  no  voice,  and  could  only  press  his  hand 
and  look  her  gratitude. 

Colonel  Ferrers,  much  out  of  breath,  came 
up,  and  gave  the  lad's  hand  a  shake  that 
might  almost  have  loosened  his  arm  in  the 
socket.  u  Well  done,  lad!  "  he  cried.  "  You 
are  of  the  right  stuff,  after  all,  and 
you'll  hear  no  more  6  milksop '  from  me. 
Where  did  you  learn  that  trick?  Harry 
Monmouth !  the  beast  was  frightened  out  of 
his  boots  !  Where  did  you  learn  it,  boy  ?  " 


278  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  An  Englishman  showed  it  to  me,"  said 
Jack  modestly.  "  It's  nothing  to  do,  but  it 
always  scares  them.  How  are  you  now,  Hil- 
degarde  ?  Sit  down,  and  let  me  bring  you 
some  water ! " 

But  Hugh  Allen  clasped  the  long  legs  of 
his  deliverer,  and  cried  joyously,  "  I  knew 
he  was  a  David !  he  is  a  double  David  now, 
isn't  he,  Beloved  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hildegarde,  smiling  again,  as 
she  turned  to  hasten  up  the  hill  to  her 
mother,  "  but  /  shall  call  him  '  Bonny  Dun- 
dee,' for  he  has  won  the  hero's  name." 

"  It  was  the  ostrich  that  won  the  day, 
though,"  said  Jack,  looking  at  his  legs. 


OVKH  THK  JAM   POTS. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  281 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

OYER    THE    JAM-POTS. 

ONE  bright  September  morning  Hildegarde 
was  sitting  in  the  dining-room,  covering  jam- 
pots. She  had  made  the  jam  herself  —  peach 
marmalade  it  was,  the  best  in  the  world,  all 
golden-brown,  like  clear  old  amber  —  a  day 
or  two  before,  and  now  it  was  firm  enough  to 
cover.  At  her  right  hand  was  a  pile  of 
covers,  thick  white  paper  cut  neatly  in  rounds, 
a  saucer  full  of  white  of  egg,  another  full  of 
brandy,  an  inkstand  and  pen.  At  her  left  was 
an  open  book,  and  a  large  rosy  apple.  She 
worked  away  busily  with  deft  fingers,  only 
stopping  now  and  then  for  a  moment  to  nib- 
ble her  apple.  First  a  small  cover  wet  in 


282  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

brandy,  fitting  neatly  inside  the  jar ;  then  a 
large  cover  brushed  over  with  white  of  egg, 
which,  when  dry,  would  make  the  paper  stiff, 
and  at  the  same  time  fasten  it  securely 
round  the  jar.  And  all  the  time  she  was 
murmuring  to  herself,  with  an  occasional 
glance  at  the  volume  beside  her,  — 

"  *  Sabrina  fair,  listen  where  thou  art  sitting, 
Under  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave, 
In  twisted  braids  of  lilies  knitting 

The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-dropping  hair. 
Listen  for  dear  honour's  sake, 
Goddess  of  the  silver  lake, 

Listen  and  save ! 
Listen  and  appear  to  us, 
In  name  of  great  Oceanus.'" 

Here  she  stopped  to  write  on  several  jars 
the  paper  on  which  was  dry  and  hard ;  a  bite 
at  her  apple,  and  she  continued,  — 

"  *  By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  crook  '  — " 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  283 

"No,"  glancing  at  the  book.  "  Why  do  T 
always  get  that  wrong  ? 

"  '  By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  mace, 
And  Tethys'  grave  majestic  pace ; 
By  hoary  Nereus'  wrinkled  look, 
And  the  Carpathian '  —  " 

At  this  moment  a  shadow  fell  on  the  table, 
as  of  some  one  passing  by  the  window,  and 
the  next  moment  Jack  entered. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  he  asked,  after  the 
morning  greetings,  sitting  down  and  scowling 
at  the  unoffending  jam-pots.  "  Can't  you 
come  out  in  the  garden  ?  It's  no  end  of  a 
day,  you  know  !  " 

"No  end?"  said  Hildegarde.  "Then  I 
shall  have  plenty  of  time,  and  I  must  finish 
my  jam-pots  in  any  case,  and  my  poetry." 

"  Poetry  ?  are  you  making  it  ?  " 

"Only  learning  it.  I  like  to  learn  bits 
when  I  am  doing  things  of  this  sort. 


284  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

" '  By  Leucothea's  lovely  hands, 

And  her  son  that  rules  the  strands'  — 

"  Wait  just  a  moment,  Jack.  I  think  I 
know  it  all  now. 

" '  By  Thetis'  tinsel-slippered  feet, 
And  the  songs  of  Sirens  sweet ;  — 

Isn't  that  lovely,  Jack  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Jack  absently.  "What 
have  you  been  doing  here,  Hilda  ?  "  He  was 
studying  the  jars  that  were  already  marked, 
and  now  read  aloud,  — 

"'  William  the  Conqueror,  his  Jam,  1066.' 

tff  Peach  Marmalade. 
Put  up  by  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark, 
For  his  own  use.7 

"  What  an  extraordinary  girl  you  are,  Hil- 
degarde  !  " 

"  Not  at  all  extraordinary  !  "  cried  Hilde- 
garde,  laughing  and  blushing.  "  Why 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  285 

shouldn't  I  amuse  myself  ?     It  hurts  no  one, 
and  it  amuses  me  very  much." 
Jack  laughed,  and  went  on,  — 

" '  Marmaladus  Crabappulis. 
C.  J.  Caesar  fecit. 
Jam  satis/ 

"<  Crab-apple  Jelly. 
Macbeth,  Banquo  &  Co.,  Limited.' 

"'  Peach  Marmalade. 

Made  by 
Johii  Grahame,  Viscount  Dundee.     Gold  Medal.' 

'•This  ought  to  be  mine." 

"  It  shall  be  yours,  greedy  viscount.  Get 
a  spoon  and  eat  it  at  once,  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you  so  much.  I  would  rather 
take  it  home,  if  I  may.  I  say,  what  is  that 
brown  stun0  out  on  the  porch,  with  mosquito 
netting  over  it  ?  Nothing  very  valuable,  I 
hope?" 

"  Oh,  Jack  !  "    cried  Hildegarde,  springing 


286  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

up,  "  my  peach  leather  !  What  have  you  — 
did  you  fall  into  it  ?  Oh,  and  I  thought  you 
were  improving  so  much  !  I  must  go  —  " 

"No,  don't  go,"  said  her  cousin.  "I  —  I 
only  knocked  down  one  plate.  And  —  Merlin 
was  with  me,  you  know,  and  I  don't  believe 
you  would  find  any  left.  I  am  very  sorry, 
Hilda.  Can  I  make  some  more  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  my  cousin.  But  no  matter, 
if  it  is  only  one  plate,  for  there  are  a  good 
many,  as  you  saw.  Only,  do  be  careful  when 
you  go  home,  that's  a  good  boy." 

"  What  is  it,  anyhow  ?  " 

"Why — you  cook  it  with  brown  sugar, 
you  know." 

"  Cook  what  ?     Leather  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear !  the  masculine  mind  is  so 
obtuse  —  peaches,  0  sacred  bird  of  Juno !  " 

"The  eagle?" 

"  The  goose.  You  really  must  study  my- 
thology, Jack.  You  cook  the  peaches  with 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  287 

brown  sugar,  and  then  you  rub  them  through 
a  sieve,  —  it's  a  horrid  piece  of  work  !  —  and 
then  spread  them  on  plates,  just  as  you  saw 
them,  and  cover  them  to  keep  the  flies  off." 

"And  leave  long  ends  trailing  to  trip  up  your 
visitors." 

"One  doesn't  expect  giraffes  to  make 
morning  calls.  So  after  a  few  days  it  hard- 
ens, if  it  has  the  luck  to  be  left  alone,  and 
then  you  roll  it  up." 

"  Plates  and  all  ? " 

"  Of  course  !  and  sprinkle  sugar  over  it,  and 
it  is  really  delicious.  I  might  have  given  you 
that  plate  you  knocked  over,  but  now  —  " 

"  It  was  the  smallest,  I  remember." 

"And,  Jack,  I  made  it  all  myself.  No  one 
else  touched  it.  And  all  this  marmalade,  and 
three  dozen  pots  of  currant  jelly,  and  four 
dozen  of  crab-apple." 

"  Sacred  bird  of  Juno ! "  ejaculated  her 
cousin. 


288  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

"  Do  you  dare  call  me  a  goose,  sir  ?  " 

"  She  drove  peacocks,  didn't  she  ?  I  do 
know  a  little  mythology. 

"  But,  Hildegarde,  be  serious  now,  will 
you  ?  I'm  in  a  peck  of  trouble,  as  Biddy  says. 
I  want  consolation,  or  advice,  or  something." 

"  Sit  down,  and  tell  me,"  said  Hildegarde, 
full  of  interest  at  once. 

Jack  sat  down  and  drummed  on  the  table, 
a  thing  that  Hildegarde  had  never  been 
allowed  to  do. 

"  I  got  a  letter  from  Daddy,  yesterday,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause.  "  Herr  Geigen  is  going  to 
Germany  now,  in  a  week,  and  Daddy  says  I 
may  go  if  Uncle  Tom  is  willing." 

"And  he  isn't  willing  ? "  Hilda  said.    «  Oh !  " 

Jack  got  up  and  moved  restlessly  about  the 
room,  laying  waste  the  chairs  as  he  went. 
"  Willing  ?  He  only  roars,  and  says,  '  Stuff 
and  nonsense  ! '  which  is  no  answer,  you  know, 
Hilda.  If  he  would  just  say  4  No,'  quietly, 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  289 

I  —  well,  of  course  you  can  make  up  your 
mind  to  stand  a  thing,  and  stand  it.  But  he 
won't  listen  to  me  for  five  minutes.  If  he 
could  realise  —  one  can  get  as  good  an  educa- 
tion at  Leipsic  as  at  Harvard.  But  his  idea 
of  Germany  is  a  country  inhabited  by  a  crazy 
emperor  and  a  '  parcel  of  Dutch  fiddlers/  and 
by  no  one  else.  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up,  I 
suppose." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  cried  Hildegarde  hopefully. 
"  Don't  give  it  up  yet.  You  know  when 
mamma  spoke  to  him,  he  didn't  absolutely 
say  '  No.'  He  said  he  would  think  about  it. 
Perhaps  —  she  might  ask  him  if  he  had 
thought  about  it.  Wait  a  day  or  two,  at  any 
rate,  Jack,  before  you  write  to  your  father. 
Can  you  wait  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  but  it  won't  make  any  differ- 
ence. I  suppose  it's  good  for  me.  You  say 
all  trouble  is  googl  in  the  end.  Have  you 
ever  had  any  trouble,  I  wonder,  Hilda?" 

"  My  father  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  colouring. 


290  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  cried  her  cousin.  "  I  am 
a  brute  !  an  idiotic  brute  !  What  shall  I  do  ? " 
he  said  in  desperation,  seeing  the  tears  in  the 
girl's  clear  eyes.  "  It  would  do  no  good  if  1 
went  and  shot  myself,  or  I  would  in  a  minute. 
You  will  forgive  me,  Hilda  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive  !  " 
said  Hildegarde,  smiling  kindly  at  him. 
"  Nothing  at  all.  I  shouldn't  have  minded 
—  but  —  it  is  his  birthday  to-morrow/'  and 
the  tears  overflowed  this  time,  while  Jack  stood 
looking  at  her  in  silent  remorse,  mentally 
heaping  the  most  frantic  abuse  upon  himself. 

The  tears  were  soon  dried,  however,  and 
Hildegarde  was  her  cheerful  self  again.  "  You 
must  go  now,"  she  said,  "  for  I  have  all  these 
jam-pots  to  put  away,  and  it  is  nearly  dinner- 
time. See !  this  jar  of  peach  marmalade  is 
for  Hugh,  because  he  is  fond  of  it.  Of  course 
Mrs.  Beadle  can  make  it  #  great  deal  better, 
but  he  will  like  this  because  his  Purple  Maid 
made  it.  Isn't  he  a  darling,  Jack  ?  " 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  291 

"  Yes,  he's  a  little  brick,  certainly.  Uncle 
Tom  calls  him  the  Phoenix,  and  is  more  de- 
lighted with  him  every  day.  Now  there  s  a 
boy  who  ought  to  go  to  Harvard." 

"  He  will,"  said  Hildegarde,  nodding 
sagely.  "  Good-by,  Jack  dear  !  " 

"  It  is  very  early.  I  don't  see  why  I  have 
to  go  so  soon !  Can't  I  help  you  to  put  away 
the  jam-pots  ?  " 

"  You  can  go  home,  my  dear  boy.  Good- 
by  !  I  sha'nt  forget  —  " 

"  Oh,  good-by !  "  and  Jack  flung  off  in  half  a 
huff,  as  auntie  would  have  said. 

Hildegarde  looked  after  him  thoughtfully. 
66  How  young  he  is  !  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
wonder  if  boys  always  are.  And  yet  he  is 
two  years  older  than  I  by  the  clock,  if  you 
understand  what  I  mean !  "  She  addressed 
the  jam-pots,  in  grave  confidence,  and  began 
to  put  them  away  in  their  own  particular  cup- 
board. 


292  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AT   THE    BROWN    COTTAGE. 

HILDEGARDE'S  mind  was  still  full  of  her 
cousin  and  his  future,  as  she  sat  that  after- 
noon in  Mrs.  Lankton's  kitchen,  with  her 
sewing-school  around  her.  The  brown  cot- 
tage with  the  green  door  had  been  found  the 
most  central  and  convenient  place  for  the  lit- 
tle class,  and  it  was  an  object  of  absorbing 
interest  to  Mrs.  Lankton  herself.  She  hov- 
ered about  Hildegarde  and  her  scholars,  pre- 
dicting disease  and  death  for  one  and  another, 
with  ghoulish  joy. 

"  Your  ma  hadn't  ought  to  let  you  come 
out  to-day,  Marthy  Skeat.  You  warn't  never 
rugged  from  the  time  you  was  a  baby; 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  293 

teethin'  like  to  have  carried  you  off,  and 
'tain't  too  late  now.  There's  wisdom  teeth, 
ye  know.  Well,  it's  none  o'  my  business,  but 
I  hope  your  ma's  prepared.  Good-mornin' , 
Miss  Grahame  !  I'm  tellin'  Marthy  Skeat  she 
ain't  very  likely  to  see  long  skirts,  comin'  out 
in  this  damp  air.  You're  peart,  are  ye  ?  That's 
right !  Ah  !  they  can  look  peart  as  ain't  had 
no  troubles  yet.  I  was  jist  like  you  oncet, 
Miss  Grahame.  I've  had  a  sight  o'  trouble ! 
no  one  don't  know  what  I've  ben  through ; 
don't  know  nothin'  about  it.  You've  fleshed 
up  some  since  ye  came  here,  ain't  ye  ?  Well, 
they  do  flesh  up  that  way  sometimes,  but 
'tain't  no  good  sign.  There's  measles  about, 
too,  they  say." 

"  How  bright  and  pretty  your  plants  are, 
Mrs.  Lankton !  "  said  Hilda,  trying  to  make 
a  diversion.  "  No,  Jack  !  —  I  mean  Jenny ! 
you  will  have  to  take  that  out  again.  See 
those  long  stitches!  They  look  as  if  they 


294  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

were  all  running  after  each  other,  don't 
they?  Take  them  out,  dear,  and  make  me 
some  nice,  neat  little  stitches,  stepping  along 
quietly,  as  you  do  when  you  have  on  those 
new  shoes  you  were  telling  me  about.  Lizzie. 
I  wonder  what  turns  your  thread  so  dark  ? 
See  how  white  my  seam  is !  What  do  you 
suppose  is  the  matter  with  yours  ?  " 

Lizzie  giggled  and  hung  her  head.  "  For- 
got to  wash  my  hands  !  "  she  muttered. 

"  That  was  a  pity ! "  said  Hildegarde. 
"It  spoils  the  looks  of  it,  you  see.  I  am 
sure  Mrs.  Lankton  will  let  you  wash  your 
hands  in  that  bright  tin  basin.  Vesta 
Philbrook,  where  is  your  violin  ? " 

"  Ma'am  ?  "  said  Vesta  Philbrook,  opening 
her  mouth  as  wide  as  her  eyes. 

"  Your  thimble  I  mean,  of  course !  "  said 
Hildegarde,  blushing  violently,  and  giving 
herself  a  mental  shake.  "Now  go  to  work, 
like  a  good  girl.  Mary,  here  is  the  patch- 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  295 

work  I  promised  you,  already  basted.  See, 
a  pink  square,  a  blue  square,  a  white  one,  and 
a  yellow  one.  They  are  all  pieces  of  my 
dresses,  the  dresses  I  wore  last  summer ;  and 
I  thought  you  would  like  to  have  them  for 
your  quilt." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  ! "  cried  the  child,  delighted. 
"Oh,  ain't  them  pretty?" 

"Handsome!"  said  Mrs.  Lankton,  peering 
over  the  child's  shoulder.  "  Them  is  hand- 
some. Ah !  I  pieced  a  quilt  once,  with  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  pieces  into  it.  Good 
goods  they  was  ;  I  had  good  things  then ;  real 
handsome  calico,  just  like  them.  Ah,  I  didn't 
know  what  trouble  was  when  I  was  your  age, 
children.  Wait  till  you've  had  lumbago,  an' 
neurology,  an'  cricks  in  your  necks  so's't  you 
can't  stand  straight,  not  for  weeks  together 
you  can't,  and  your  roof  leaking  an'  dreepin' 
all  over  yer  bed,  an'  — " 

% 

"Why,  Mrs.  Lankton!"  exclaimed  Hilde- 


296  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

garde.  "  Surely  the  roof  is  not  leaking  again, 
when  it  was  all  shingled  this  summer !  " 

"  Not  yet  it  ain't,  dear !  "  sighed  the  widow. 
"  But  I'm  prepared  for  it,  and  I  don't  expect 
nothin'  else,  after  what  I've  been  through. 
I  was  fleshy  myself,  once,  though  no  one 
wouldn't  think  it  to  look  at  me." 

"  I  wonder,  Mrs.  Lankton,"  began  Hilde- 
garde  gently. 

"  You  may  wonder,  dear !  "  was  the  reply. 
"  Folks  do  wonder  when  they  think  what  I've 
bean  through.  Fleshy  was  no  name  for  it. 
There !  I  was  fairly  corpilent  when  I  was 
your  age." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  in  some  confusion. 
"I  meant  —  I  am  very  thirsty,  Mrs.  Lankton, 
and  if  you  could  give  me  a  glass  of  your 
delicious  water  —  " 

"  Suttingly !  "  exclaimed  the  widow  with 
alacrity.  "  Suttingly,  Miss  Grahame  !  I'll 
go  right  out  and  pump  ye  some.  It  is  good 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  297 

water/'  she  admitted,  with  reluctant  pride. 
"  I've  been  expectin'  it  would  dry  up,  right 
along,  lately !  "  and  she  hastened  out  into  the 
yard. 

"  Now,  children,"  said  Hildegarde  hastily, 
"  I  will  go  on  with  the  story  I  began  last  time. 
6  So  Robert  Bruce  was  crowned  king  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  no  sooner  was  he  king  than ' 

By  the  time  Mrs.  Lankton  returned  with 
the  water,  every  child  was  listening  spell- 
bound to  the  wonderful  tale  of  Bruce  at  the 
ford,  and  no  one  had  an  eye  or  an  ear  for 
the  doleful  widow,  save  Hildegarde,  whose 
"  Thank  you  !  "  and  quick  glance  of  gratitude 
lightened  for  a  moment  the  gloom  of  her 
hostess's  countenance. 

So  deep  were  teacher  and  pupils  in  Bruce 
and  patchwork  that  none  of  them  heard  the 
sound  of  wheels,  or  the  sudden  cessation  of 
it  outside  the  door,  till  Mrs.  Lankton  ex- 
claimed with  tragic  unction  :  "It  is  Colonel 


298  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Ferrers !  driving  hisself,  and  his  boss  all  of  a 
sweat.  I  hope  he  ain't  the  bearer  of  bad 
news,  but  I  should  be  prepared,  if  I  was  you, 
Miss  Grahame.  Poor  child  !  what  would  you 
do  if  your  ma  was  took  ? "  Hildegarde  has- 
tened to  the  door,  but  was  instantly  reassured 
by  the  old  gentleman's  cheery  smile. 

"  Why  did  you  move  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  stopped 
on  purpose  to  have  a  look  at  you,  with  your 
flock  of  doves  around  you.  Hilda  and  the 
doves,  hey  ?  you  remember  ?  '  Marble  Faun  ! ' 
yes,  yes  !  But  since  you  have  moved,  shall  I 
drive  you  home,  Miss  Industry?" 

Hildegarde  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  Our 
time  is  over,"  she  said  to  the  children.  u  Yes, 
Colonel  Ferrers,  thank  you  !  I  should  enjoy 
the  drive  very  much  indeed.  Can  you  wait 
perhaps  five  minutes  ?" 

The  Colonel  could  and  would ;  and  Hilde- 
garde returned  to  see  that  all  work  was  neatly 
folded  and  put  away. 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  299 

"  And,  Annie,  here  is  the  receipt  I  promised 
you.  Be  sure  to  mix  the  meal  thoroughly,  and 
have  a  good  hot  oven,  and  you  will  find  them 
very  nice  indeed,  and  your  mother  will  be  so 
pleased  at  your  making  them  yourself!  " 

"Vesta,  did    you  try  the    honey  candy?" 

"  Yes,  'm  !  'twas  dretful  good.  My  little 
brother,  he  like  t'ha'  died,  he  eat  so  much." 

"  Dear  me ! "  exclaimed  Hilda,  rather  alarmed 
at  this  result  of  her  neat  little  plan  of  teach- 
ing the  children  something  about  cookery, 
without  their  finding  out  that  they  were 
being  taught. 

"  But  you  must  see  to  it,  Vesta,  that  he 
doesn't  eat  too  much.  That  is  one  of  the 
things  an  elder  sister  is  for,  you  know. 

"  Now,  whose  turn  is  it  to  sweep  up  the 
threads  and  scraps  ?  Yours,  Euleta  ?  Well, 
see  how  careful  you  can  be !  not  a  thread 
must  be  left  on  Mrs.  Lankton's  clean  floor, 
vou  know." 


300  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

Soon  all  was  in  order,  workbags  put  away, 
hats  and  bonnets  tied  on  ;  and  Hildegarde 
came  out  with  her  doves  about  her,  all  look- 
ing as  if  they  had  had  a  thoroughly  good 
time.  With  many  affectionate  farewells  to 
"  Teacher,"  the  children  scattered  in  different 
directions,  and  Colonel  Ferrers  chirruped  to 
the  brown  cob,  which  trotted  briskly  away 
over  the  smooth  road.  The  Colonel  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  sewing-school.  Hes- 
ter Aytoun  had  had  one  for  the  village  chil- 
dren, and  there  had  been  none  from  her  death 
until  .now.  He  asked  many  questions,  which 
Hildegarde  answered  with  right  good  will. 
They  were  dear  children,  she  said.  She  was 
getting  to  know  them  very  well,  for  she  tried 
to  see  them  in  their  homes  once  a  fortnight, 
and  found  they  liked  to  have  her  come,  and 
looked  forward  to  it.  Some  of  them  were 
very  bright ;  not  all,  of  course,  but  they  all 
tried,  and  that  was  the  great  thing.  Yes, 


"HE    GAVE    ME    A    LUNGE    IN    QUART.1 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  303 

she  told  them  all  the  stories  they  wanted, 
and  they  wanted  a  great  many. 

"  Speaking  of  stories,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I 
find  I  have  work  laid  out  for  the  rest  of  my 
life." 

"Hugh?"  said  Hildegarde,  smiling. 

"  Most  astonishing  child  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life  !  "  the  Colonel  cried.  "  Most  amazing 
child  !  to  see  how  he  flings  himself  on  books 
is  a  wonder.  I  don't  let  him  keep  at  'em 
long,  you  understand.  A  brain  like  that 
needs  play,  sir,  play !  I've  bought  him  a 
little  foil,  and  —  Harry  Monmouth  !  he  gave 
me  a  lunge  in  quart  that  almost  broke  my 
guard,  last  night.  But  stories !  '  More  about 
kings,  please,  Sire  ! ' — he's  got  a  notion  of  call- 
ing me  Sire  —  ho  !  ho  !  can't  get  Saul  out  of 
his  head,  d'ye  see  ?  I  feel  like  Charlemagne, 
or  Barbarossa,  or  some  of  'em.  'More  about 
kings  when  they  were  in  battle.'  He's  learned 
6  Agincourt '  by  heart,  just  from  my  reading 


304  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

it  to  him.  '  Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France,' 
hey?  Finest  ballad  in  the  English  language. 
Says  you  read  it  to  him,  too.  And  if  I 
am  busy  he  goes  to  Elizabeth  Beadle  and 
frightens  her  out  of  her  wits  with  sentences 
out  of  the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah.  Now 
this  boy  —  mark  me,  Hildegarde! — will  turn 
out  something  very  uncommon,  if  he  has  the 
right  training.  That  scoundrelly  knave, 
Ephraim  Loftus,  wanted  to  make  a  gentle- 
man of  him  !  Ho !  Ephraim  doesn't  know 
how  a  gentleman's  shoes  look,  unless  he  has 
been  made  acquainted  with  the  soles  of  them. 
I  kicked  him  myself  once,  I  remember,  for 
beating  a  horse  unmercifully.  This  boy  will 
be  a  great  scholar,  mark  my  words !  And 
whatever  assistance  I  can  give  him  shall  be 
cheerfully  given.  Why,  the  lad  has  genius  ! 
positive  genius  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hildegarde,  her  heart  beating- 
fast.     "  Then  you  think,  Colonel  Ferrers,  that 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  805 

a  —  a  person  should  be  educated  for  what 
seems  to  be  his  natural  bent.  Do  you  think 
that?" 

"  Harry  Monmouth  !  of  course  I  do  !  Look 
at  me !  D'ye  think  I  was  fitted  for  a  mercan- 
tile life,  for  example  ?  Never  got  algebra 
through  my  head,  and  hate  figures.  The 
army  was  what  I  was  born  for  !  Born  for  it, 
sir  !  Shouldered  my  pap-spoon  in  the  cradle, 
and  presented  arms  whenever  I  was  taken  up. 
Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  " 

Hildegarde  began  to  tremble,  but  her  cour- 
age did  not  fail.  "And  —  and  Jack,  dear 
Colonel  Ferrers,"  she  said  softly.  "  He  was 
born  for  music,  was  he  not  ?  " 

The  Colonel  turned  square  round,  and 
gazed  at  her  from  under  brows  that  met  over 
his  hooked  nose.  "  What  then?"  he  said 
slowly,  after  a  pause.  "If  my  nephew  was 
born  for  a  fiddler,  what  then,  Miss  Hildegarde 
Grahame  ?  Is  it  any  reason  why  he  should 


306  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

not  be  trained  for  something  better  ?  I  like 
the  boy's  playing  very  well,  very  well  indeed, 
when  he  keeps  clear  of  Dutch  discords.  But 
you  would  not  compare  playing  the  fiddle 
with  the  glorious  Art  of  War,  I  imagine  ?  " 

"  Not  for  an  instant !  "  cried  Hildegarde, 
flushing  deeply  under  the  Colonel's  half-stern, 
half -quizzical  gaze.  "  Compare  music,  lovely 
music,  that  cheers  and  comforts  and  delights 
all  the  world,  with  fierce,  cruel,  dreadful  war  ? 
Look  at  Jack,  with  his  mind  full  of  beautiful 
harmonies  and  —  and  i  airs  from  heaven  ' 
—they  really  are !  making  us  laugh  or  cry, 
or  dance  or  exult,  just  by  the  motion  of  his 
hand.  Look  at  him,  and  then  imagine  him 
in  a  red  coat,  with  a  gun  in  his  hand  - 

"  Red  is  the  British  colour,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel. 

"  Well,  a  blue  coat,  then.  What  difference 
does  it  make  ?  —  a  gun  in  his  hand,  shooting 
people  who  never  did  him  any  harm,  whose 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  307 

faces  he  had  never  even  seen.  Oh,  Colonel 
Ferrers,  I  would  not  have  believed  it  of  you  ! " 

"  And  who  asked  you  to  believe  it  of  me, 
pray  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel,  as  he  drove  up  to 
the  door  of  Braeside.  "  To  tell  the  truth, 
young  lady,  war  is  very  much  more  in  your 
line  than  in  my  nephew's.  Harry  Monmouth ! 
Bellona  in  person,  I  verily  believe.  My  com- 
pliments to  your  mother,  and  say  I  shall  call 
her  Madam  Althaea  in  future,  for  she  has 
brought  forth  a  firebrand." 

Instantly  Hildegarde's  ruffled  plumes 
drooped,  smoothed  themselves  down;  instead 
of  the  flashing  gaze  of  the  eagle,  a  dove-like 
look  now  met  the  quizzical  gaze  of  the  old 
gentleman.  "  Dear  Colonel  Ferrers  !  "  this 
hypocritical  girl  murmured,  as,  standing  on 
the  verandah  steps,  she  laid  her  hand  gently 
on  his  arm.  "  Thank  you  so  very  much  for 
driving  me  home.  You  are  always  so  kind 
—  to  me  !  And  —  and  —  I  want  to  ask  one 


308  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

question.     Can  you  tell  me  the  first  lines  of 
Drfden's  <  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day'  ?" 
"  Of  course !  "  said  the  simple  Colonel. 

" '  From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 
This  universal  frame  began.' 

Why  do  you  —  oh !  you  youthful  Circe ! 
you  infant  Medea,  you  —  "he  shook  his 
whip  threateningly. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Colonel  Ferrers  !  "  cried 
Hildegarde.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  remembered 
the  lines.  Aren't  they  beautiful  ?  Good-by  !  " 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  309 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

GOOD-BY  ! 

"  I  HAVE  come  to  say  good-by ! "  cried 
Jack  Ferrers,  rushing  up  the  steps,  as  Hilde- 
garde  was  sitting  on  the  piazza,  with  Hugh 
curled  up  at  her  feet.  "Uncle  Tom  will 
come  for  me  with  the  wagon.  Oh,  Hilda,  it 
doesn't  seem  possible,  does  it  ?  It  is  too  good 
to  be  true  !  and  it  is  all  your  doing,  every 
bit.  I  sha'n't  forget  it.  I  say !  I  wish  you 
were  coming  too  !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't ! "  said  Hildegarde, 
speaking  lightly,  though  her  cheeks  were 
flushed  and  her  eyes  bright  with  real  feeling. 
"  You  would  send  me  back  by  express,  labelled 
6  troublesome  baggage/ 


310  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

"  Dear  old  Jack !  .  You  know  how  glad  I 
am,  without  my  saying  it.  But,  oh  !  how  we 
shall  miss  you  !  Your  uncle  —  " 

"  Oh !  Hugh  will  take  care  of  Uncle  Tom, 
won't  you,  Hugh  ?  Hugh  suits  him  down  to 
the  ground  —  I  beg  pardon,  I  mean  through 
and  through,  and  they  will  have  fine  times 
together." 

"I  will  try!"  said  the  child.  "But  we 
shall  be  like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness,  I  am 
afraid." 

"You  go  straight  home  now?"  Hildegarde 
asked. 

"  Straight  home !  five  days  with  Daddy  — 
bless  him !  and  then  he  goes  to  New  York 
with  me,  and  sees  me  off.  Oh !  see  here  !  " 
he  began  fumbling  in  his  pockets.  "  I  have 
a  keepsake  for  you.  I  —  of  course  you  know 
I  haven't  any  money,  Hilda,  or  I  would  have 
.  bought  you  something ;  but  Uncle  Tom  gave 
it  to  me  on  purpose  to  give  to  you ;  so  it's 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  311 

partly  from  him,  too.  Here  it  is !  It  be- 
longed to  our  great-grandmother,  he  says." 

Such  a  lovely  ring !  A  star  of  yellow  dia- 
monds set  on  a  hoop  of  gold.  Hildegarde 
flushed  with  delight.  "  Oh,  Jack  !  how  kind 
of  him !  how  dear  of  you !  Oh !  what  an 
exquisite  thing !  I  shall  wear  it  always." 

"  And  —  I  say  !  how  well  it  looks  on  your 
hand!  I  never  noticed  before  what  pretty 
hands  you  have,  Hilda.  You  are  the  pretti- 
est girl  I  ever  saw,  altogether." 

"And  Rose?"    asked  Hildegarde,  smiling. 

Jack  blushed  furiously.  He  had  fallen 
deeply  in  love  with  Rose's  photograph,  and 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  gazing  at  it  for  ten 
or  fifteen  minutes  every  day  for  the  past  fort- 
night, ever  since  it  arrived.  "  That's  differ- 
ent !  "  he  said.  "  She  is  an  angel,  if  the  pict- 
ure is  like  her." 

"It  isn't  half  lovely  enough!"  cried  loyal 
Hildegarde.  "Not  half!  You  don't  see  the 


312  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

blue  of  her  eyes,  or  her  complexion,  just  like 
'  a  warm  white  rose.'  Oh !  you  would  love 
her,  Jack ! " 

"I  —  I  rather  think  I  do  !  "  Jack  confessed. 
"You  might  let  me  have  the  photograph, 
Hildegarde." 

But  this  Hildegarde  wholly  refused  to  do. 
"I  have  something  much  more  useful  for 
you!  "  she  said;  and,  running  into  the  house, 
she  brought  out  a  handkerchief-case  of  linen, 
daintily  embroidered,  containing  a  dozen  fine 
hemstitched  handkerchiefs.  "I  hemstitched 
them  myself,"  she  said;  "the  peacock  still 
spreads  its  tail,  you  observe.  And  —  see  ! 
on  one  side  of  the  case  are  forget-me-nots  — 
that  is  my  flower,  you  know;  and  on  the 
other  are  roses.  I  take  credit  for  putting  the 
roses  on  top." 

"  Dear  Hilda  !  "  cried  her  cousin,  giving  her 
hand  a  hearty  shake.  "  What  a  good  fel  — 
what  a  jolly  girl  you  are !  You  ought/'  he 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  313 

added  shyly,  "  to  marry  the  best  man  in  the 
world,  and  I  hope  you  will." 

"  I  mean  to,"  said  Hildegarde,  laughing, 
with  a  happy  light  in  her  eyes. 

Hildegarde  had  never  seen  her  "  fairy 
prince,  with  joyful  eyes,  and  lighter-footed 
than  the  fox";  but  she  knew  he  would  come 
in  good  time.  She  knew,  too,  very  much 
what  he  was  like,  —  a  combination  of  Amyas 
Leigh,  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  Dundee,  and 
Montrose,  with  a  dash  of  the  Cid,  and  a 
strong  flavour  of  Bayard,  the  constancy  of 
William  the  Silent,  the  kindness  of  Scott, 
and  the  eyes  of  Edwin  Booth.  Some  day  he 
would  come,  and  find  his  maiden  waiting  for 
him.  Meantime,  it  was  so  very  delightful 
to  have  Jack  fall  in  love  with  Rose.  If  — 
she  thought,  and  on  that  "if"  rose  many  a 
Spanish  castle,  fair  and  lofty,  with  glittering 
pinnacle  and  turret.  But  she  had  not  the 
heart  to  tell  Jack  of  the  joyful  news  she  had 


314  HILDEGARDE'S   HOME. 

just  received,  dared  not  tell  him  of  the  letter 
in  her  pocket  which  said  that  this  dearest 
Rose  was  coming  soon,  perhaps  this  very 
week,  to  make  her  a  long,  long  visit.  If  she 
could  only  have  come  earlier ! 

But  now  Jack  was  taking  his  violin  out  of 
his  box.  "Where  is  your  mother?"  he  said. 
"  This  is  my  own,  this  present  for  you  both. 
It  is  <  Farewell  to  Braeside  ! ' 

Hildegarde  flew  to  call  her  mother,  and 
met  her  just  coming  downstairs.  "  Jack  has 
composed  a  farewell  for  us,"  she  cried.  "  All 
for  us,  mamma  !  Come  !  " 

Farewell !  the  words  seemed  to  breathe 
through  the  lovely  melody,' as  the  lad  played 
softly,  sweetly,  a  touch  of  sadness  underlying 
the  whole.  "  Farewell !  farewell !  parting  is 
pain,  is  pain,  but  Love  heals  the  wound  with  a 
touch.  Love  flies  over  land  and  sea,  bringing 
peace,  peace,  and  good  tidings  and  joy."  Then 
the  theme  changed,  and  a  strain  of  triumph, 


HILDEGARDE'S   HOME.  315 

of  exultation,  made  the  air  thrill  with  happi- 
ness, with  proud  delight.  The  girl  and  her 
mother  exchanged  glances.  "  This  is  his 
work,  his  life  !  "  said  their  eyes.  And  the 
song  soared  high  and  higher,  till  one  fine, 
exquisite  note  melted  like  a  skylark  into  the 
blue ;  then  sinking  gently,  gently,  it  flowed 
again  into  the  notes  of  the  farewell,  — 

"  Parting  is  pain,  is  pain,  but  Love  is  im- 
mortal." 

Both  women  were  in  tears  when  the  song 
died  away,  and  Jack's  own  eyes  were  sus- 
piciously bright. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Grahame,  wiping 
her  eyes,  "  I  do  believe  you  are  going  to  a 
life  of  joy  and  of  well-earned  triumph.  I 
do  heartily  believe  it." 

"It  is  all  Hilda's  doings,"  said  Jack,  "and 
yours.  All  Hilda's  and  yours,  Aunt  Mildred. 
I  shall  not  forget." 

Here  Hugh,  who  had  been  listening  spell- 


316  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

bound,  asked  suddenly,  "  What  was  the  name 
of  the  boat  which  the  gentleman  who  begins 
with  0  made  to  go  swiftly  over  the  sea  when 
he  played  with  his  hand  ?  " 

"  The  Argo,  dear,"  said  Hildegarde. 

"It  is  that  boat  he  should  go  in,"  nodding 
to  Jack.  "  It  would  leap  like  an  unicorn, 
wouldn't  it,  if  he  played  those  beautiful 
things  which  he  just  played  ?  " 

And  now  Colonel  Ferrers  drove  up  to  the 
door,  with  the  brown  cob  and  the  yellow 
wagon.  The  last  words  were  said ;  the 
precious  violin  was  carefully  stowed  under 
the  seat.  Jack  kissed  Mrs.  Grahame  warmly, 
and  exchanged  with  Hildegarde  a  long,  silent 
pressure  of  the  hand,  in  which  there  was  a 
whole  world  of  kindness  and  affection  and 
comradeship.  Boys  and  girls  can  be  such 
good  friends,  if  they  only  know  how ! 

"Boot  and  saddle  !  "  cried  the  Colonel. 

"Good-by!"  cried  the  lad,  springing  into 


HILDEGARDE'S  HOME.  317 

the  wagon.  "  Good-by !  Don't  forget  the 
ostrich  gentleman ! " 

"  Good-by,  dear  Jack  !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  lad  !  Good-by  !  " 
and  the  wheels  went  crashing  over  the  gravel. 

At  the  end  of  the  driveway  the  Colonel 
checked  his  horse  for  a  moment  before  turn- 
ing into  the  main  road.  "  Look  back,-  boy," 
he  said. 

Jack  looked,  and  saw  Hildegarde  and  her 
mother  standing  on  the  verandah  with  arms 
entwined,  gazing  after  them  with  loving  looks. 
The  girl's  white-clad  figure  and  shining  locks 
were  set  in  a  frame  of  hanging  vines  and 
creepers ;  her  face  was  bright  with  love  and 
cheer.  The  slender  mother,  in  her  black 
dress,  seemed  to  droop  and  lean  towards  her  ; 
on  the  other  side  the  child  clasped  her  hand 
with  fervent  love  and  devotion. 

"My  boy,"  said  Colonel  Ferrers,  "take 
that  picture  with  you  wherever  you  go.  You 


318  HILDEGARDE'S  HOME. 

will  see  many  places  and  many  people,  good 
and  bad,  comely  and  ill-favoured ;  but  you 
will  see  no  sight  so  good  as  that  of  a  young 
woman,  lovely  and  beloved,  shining  in  the 
doorway  of  the  home  she  makes  bright." 


RETURN   EDUCATION-PSYCHOLOGY  LIBRARY 

RETURN    EDUCATION-PSYCHOLOGY  LIBRARY 

TO— *    2600  Tolman  Hall  642-4209 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 
SEMESTER 

2 

3 

4    SEMESTER  LOA!\ 
NO  TELEPHONE  f 

5 
ENEWALS 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

2-hour  books  must  be  renewed  in  person 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

CCfclCOTCD  1  ftAM 

otMtoltK  LUAN 

uEC'4u  iy«j 

SUBJECT  TO  RECAU. 

REC'D  QLC        T 

SEMESTER  LO/L 

^  IS  198B 

•  .  

SUBJECT  TO  RE(L  L 

KHTO  OEC   ^is-SPM 

i  i  K.I  i  \  /rnc  IT\/  s-\r  r~  A  i  i  r/^nK  IIA      ocni/ci 


U.C.  BERKE  EY  I IBRARIES 


